


Twelve Crows

by WhaleWishes



Category: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)
Genre: AKA The Texas Chainsaw Massacre fic I've been wanting to write since I was 14, F/M, I know the plot has been done a thousand times, THAT’S RIGHT EVERYONE IT’S A WEREWOLF AU!, Will update rating as it becomes relevant, graphic descriptions of dead animals, listen, werewolf!thomas hewitt, will add more tags as they become relevant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2019-10-15 04:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17521922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhaleWishes/pseuds/WhaleWishes
Summary: Hazel Montgomery was in need of a change. A writer by trade and a risk-taker by nature, she makes the move back to the rickety house she was forced from as a child. She doesn't expect much from the old homestead; a roof over her head and a furthering of her career, perhaps, but when she gets an invitation to dinner at her childhood best friend's home, things begin to spiral out of control.





	1. Take Me Home, Country Roads

As she stared up at the old house in the Texas twilight, she moved both fists to her sides with a frown.

Hazel had not been to the old house in many years.

She had spent her earliest years here in this place, she knew, but looking at the rundown building now, she could only muster vague memories of childhood.

She was a writer by trade, successful and happy with where she was in life, four books deep in her career and ready to start on the fifth.

She had been left the old family homestead by her grandmother, the woman gone for many years and the building standing empty for almost as long. She didn’t have much of a connection to the old place, even going so far as to try to give what was left of the homestead to her older sister, unsurprised when she got a firm and immediate “no thanks.”

Hence the move to the old house she had grown up in, nestled at the edge of a town that had died long ago.

The old, white paint was chipped, cracked and peeling, one of the posts on the front porch leaning slightly to one side. The grass around the old steps had grown up to her hip, long since tended. She stamped it down cautiously, wary of any snakes or other animals that could be hiding within the vicious tangle of thorns and weeds. The first stair creaked but held, bowing under her weight as she made her way to the front door.

The hardwood floor inside was a dull and faded blue, smudged with dirt, old but solid under her feet. It was deeply marred in some places, the surface a spirograph of strange scratches, as if someone had spent many nights moving heavy furniture around. She toed the odd grooves with her foot before moving on, heading deeper inside the shell of what had once been a bustling home.  

The back porch gave her pause, an odd clattering under her feet as she pushed open the inner door and crossed the threshold. The backdoor had been torn off completely, she noticed immediately in the dying light of the Texas afternoon, the sun playing through the old and shredded screens that made up the porch’s walls.

She huffed. Another thing she’d had to replace.

The floor was covered in something strange, hard, obscured by the darkness of the fading evening. She clicked on her flashlight and pointed it at her feet, heart leaping into her throat immediately.

_Bones._

Bones upon bones upon bones, stacked as high as a foot deep in some places. Skulls she recognized easily, the sharp teeth of canines, and the forking antlers of white-tailed deer, piled high among rib cages and spines.

“Huh,” she said dumbly, exiting the room and closing the door behind her.

A problem for tomorrow.

A problem for daylight.

 

* * *

 

She had slept that night on an air mattress she had set up on the living room floor, tossing and turning restlessly in the old house that was near-void of memories. She gave up on sleeping around seven o’clock, when the light had filtered fully through the ragged curtains and she was no longer able to feign sleep.

She had spent the entire restless night making lists in her head, things that needed to be done today and people that needed to be called. She’d have lights on in the house by the end of the day, the cracked windows replaced, and the ratty sofa in the livingroom done away with entirely.

But now came the part she had been dreading.

She hated cleaning, always boring task after boring task. She hated the dust and the grime, hated getting dirt under her nails, hated any and all messes and was inclined to dislike who or whatever had made it in the first place. She would hire someone to clean the main house, she decided quickly, someone to take away the old furniture and remove the cobwebs from the corners. But a back porch teaming with bones?

Might raise a few questions.

As she cleaned -an abhorrent task that had her lip curling even before she lowered herself to the floor- her mind wandered to the wild sunflowers that spread across her property, tangled with thorns and weeds.

Sunflowers had always been her favorite flower ever since she was a kid. With their lean, towering stalks and their tendency to follow the sun when growing, she couldn’t help but feel drawn to them. Her family had owned a small farm when she was a child, cattle as well as some crops, but most importantly a field of sunflowers she would often find herself escaping to when things became too much. She would spend hours among the tall stalks and sunny faces, laying on the ground and staring up at the blue expanse of sky, uncaring if she dirtied her clothes or if her mother fussed at her later.

“This is private property, girlie.”

She jumped, startled, dropping the tin trash can with a crash that had her teeth clenching.

The law enforcement officer gave a sniff, eyeing the mess as the can hit it’s side, releasing a clattering of bones that spilled across the newly cleaned floor.

She swore under her breath as she turned to the man, bringing one gloved hand swipe across her forehead. “Actually, sir, I just-” she broke off suddenly, eyeing the man with curiosity. There was a spark of recognition, as if she knew the man somehow but couldn’t quite place him. “Do I know you from somewhere?” She asked after a moment, self conscious suddenly, as if realizing that she had probably been staring too long.

“You’re a mite too young to be any conquest of mine, Sugar,” the man said with a tobacco-stained grin. “But I reckon we could get to know each other if you’d like.”

Crass but not entirely unexpected.

“Nah, nothing like that,” she said, turning away from the man to look at the trash can, as if somehow the action could will the mess away. “Used to live here when I was a girl. You familiar with the Montgomerys?”

The man’s expression shifted, tilting his hat up and squinting his eyes to get a better look. He leaned in, crinkling his nose before recognition danced across his face. “Well, I’ll be damned if it ain’t little Hazel,” the sheriff said, eyeing her up and down. “You sure grew into a pretty thing, didn’t you?”

‘Charlie’, her brain supplied after a moment of triggered recognition.

She laughed, crouching to scoop up a handful of bones. “When did you decide to become a sheriff, Charlie? Heard there wasn’t much use for one around these parts lately.”

“It’s Hoyt now, girlie, Sheriff Hoyt.” He said, suddenly stern as he ignored her question. “You moving back in?”

“Yes, sir, slowly but surely,” she grinned, face as sunny and bright as the wild flowers growing around the man’s feet. “Just cleaning up around the old homestead a little. Hoping to have some furniture delivered in a couple of days and I reckon I’ve got a long way to go before the house is ready for that.”

“Suppose I ought to leave you to your bones, then.”

Hazel laughed, a melodic sound, unfettered by the bones that piled around her knees. “I appreciate you dropping in, Sheriff.”

“Say,” Charlie said with a grin, wide as if her own were contagious somehow. “Why don’t you come on over for dinner tonight? I’m sure Mama and Tommy both would be thrilled to see you.”

“Tonight?”

A small flower of anxiety bloomed in her chest. It was too soon, too fast. What would she wear?

She hadn’t seen Thomas since they were kids.

“Sure,” she said brightly, stamping down the anxiety as if it were a tangible thing.

It was just dinner. What could possibly happen?

 

* * *

 

The Hewitt house was just how she’d remembered, a looming structure silhouetted against a field of yellow grass. It was an old house, plantation style, weathered and faded from so many years in the unforgiving Texan sun.

She stood in the foyer in her summer dress, cardigan wrapped around her shoulders and falling to her mid thigh, only scant inches above her dresses’ hem.

She breathed in deeply. Everything was the same as when she was a kid, down to the smell of Luda Mae’s stew in the air. Oh, how she missed it.

The huge man paused when he hit the top step, inhaling sharply as the basement door slid shut behind him. He brought one hand to the wall as if to support himself, the wood under his hand creaking in protest. Settled across his nose and mouth was a mask of some kind, leather and pull taught, hiding the entire bottom half of his face from view. His shirt was dirtied, his sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, revealing thick forearms corded with muscle and dusted with dark hair.

She blinked at the massive man, surprised almost when he remained where he was as she openly studied him, blinking back at her with dark eyes. She was reminded then of a wild animal, a deer maybe, something quick to startle and quick to run.

He glanced over to Luda Mae, as if asking if this was okay, his eyes wild enough that for a moment she felt the urge to stand absolutely still.

“You remember Hazel, don’t you, Thomas? From next door?” The woman cooed softly, placing both hands on her shoulders as if to steady her.

 _This_ was Tommy? This massive mountain of a man was the little kid she used to get in playground brawls over?

She stepped forward confidently, surprised when the huge man took a step back in return, as if startled, his back nearly hitting the wall. She looked away, bringing her hands to the pocket of her cardigan awkwardly.

Of all the reactions she had anticipated, this was not one of them.

She felt a pang of sadness take root in her chest.

 

* * *

 

“So, what are you doing now, dear?” The woman asked, taking a slow bite of her stew.

“Must have come into a bit of money if you’ve got enough to fix up the old homestead.”

“Hush now, Charlie, it’s rude to talk about finances.”

She laughed, bringing her cloth napkin up to her mouth. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m a writer now. Just felt like I needed a change.” She paused with a shrug, drawing the napkin back across her lap. “Plus, living out here is cheaper than in the city, anyway.”

“Oh, how exciting!” The woman exclaimed. “Writing what, dear?”

“Oh uh, romance novels,” she said hesitantly, her anxiety fluttering like butterflies in her stomach. She was asked often what her genre of choice was, mostly by literary snobs that already had it in their hearts to dislike her.

“How sweet.”

There was a pause that seemed to stretch on, not quite awkward but seeming to toe the line.

“You know, honey, Tommy sure did miss you when you moved away.”

Hazel glanced over at the large man, a small smile tugging at one corner of her lips. “Yeah?”

“Oh yes, dear, of course. You were his closest friend after all,” Luda Mae prattled on fondly, oblivious to the man’s discomfort as he fisted one hand in the fabric of his worn slacks. “Why, I remember the night before you left, clear as a bell. You showed up on the front steps at half past nine just a cryin’ and carryin’ on, begging to talk to my boy. Might have turned you away if not for your grandmother and that heartbroken look in your eye.”

Hazel hummed. She remembered that night vaguely, remembered running through the dark forest with tears in her eyes in hopes of seeing her best friend one last time. “I was real upset when my parents told me they were sending me to live with my aunt in the city.”

She smiled at Thomas then, open and warm, the smile dropping immediately when Thomas turned his head sharply away, directing his attention instead to the wall.

“Charlie mentioned the animal bones you found on your back porch.”

“Oh?” She asked curiously, taking another bite of her deer stew.

“Might be that coyotes were using your place as a den. I’d be careful around the place at night if I were you.”

She frowned at that. She didn’t know much about coyotes and knew even less about defending herself. “Should I...should I get a gun?”

The table was silent as they looked back and forth at each other.

“Might ought to,” the sheriff said finally.

She wondered why no one would meet her eye.

 

* * *

 

It was only after all the dishes had been cleared away and a bowl had been packed for her to take home that Luda Mae dropped what was possibly the biggest bombshell of the night.

“It’s awful dark out there,” the older woman said with a smile. “I’m sure Tommy here would be happy to walk you home, dear.”

She thought of the way he had recoiled from her in the foyer, the way he quickly averted his gaze anytime she glanced over during dinner. Childhood friend or no, it was clear that Thomas Hewitt wanted nothing to do with her. “Oh, no, no, I’ll be fine, ma’am,” she tried quickly, knowing that if Luda Mae pushed much harder, she’d have no choice but to relent. “It’s a short walk and I’m sure Tommy is plenty busy.”

“Nonsense,” the older woman said with a wave of her hand. She had passed Thomas an old lantern before drawing her in for a hug. “Thanks for dropping by, honey,” she had told her with a smile, mindful of the bowl she had packed for her as it rested between them. “Now come by anytime, you hear? You’re always welcome in our home.”

“Thanks for having me over,” she replied, the exchange with Luda Mae reminding her that it couldn’t hurt to brush up on her southern pleasantries.

As Thomas lit the lantern and the pair descended the steps, they fell into a silence broken only by the twigs underfoot and the birds in the trees around them.

The path she had walked to the Hewitt house as a child was still worn underfoot, as if well used, something she found very odd. She expected it to be overgrown by now, crowded with foliage and fallen limbs, but instead it was bare, just as she remembered it.

They were maybe five minutes into their walk when she finally spoke.

“I missed you too, you know,” she said softly, tilting her head slightly so she could look at the man from the corner of her eye as the pair walked. “Broke a window when my parents told me I was being sent away.”

The man glanced down at her curiously, never breaking stride.

“I mean, I understand why they did it of course, now, as an adult.” She shrugged, kicking idly at a pebble in her path, watching as the rock skittered past the ring of the lantern’s light and disappeared. “But man, back then, I really thought my life was over.”

“I was too scrappy as a kid, had too much fight in me, I reckon. My aunt…was like that too, I guess, in a way,” here she frowned, tilting her head back, eyes finding the bright white specks of stars through the forests canopy. “She was a strict woman, very ‘no nonsense’. Didn’t take her long to straighten me out.”

She allowed a beat of silence to stretch between them before she suddenly laughed, an awkward sound that felt wrong, even to her. “Sorry I got weird there,” she said, bumping her shoulder against his playfully, a jovial smile creeping across her face. “Enough about me though, look at _you!_ You’re so big now I bet you could lift me with one arm!”

Thomas eyed her for a moment, looking at her from her head to her feet before giving a slow nod, as if confirming her hypothetical.

She laughed, genuine this time as they crossed the treeline that marked the edge of her property. She found her way quickly by the lantern’s light to the path she had made earlier, wild sunflowers and weeds stamped down easily in a path that was one person wide. She reached out, grabbing his free hand and gently tugging him onto the path in front of her, allowing her fingers to dance along his much larger cauloused ones.

Thomas tensed, his whole body going rigid as their fingers met and stayed connected, his hand trailing behind him with her small fingers wrapped around his own.

When they reached the porch, their hands separated.

“I really appreciate you walking me home, you know, after all the coyote talk at dinner. And all the way to the door no less? What a gentleman.” She paused, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Thank you, Tommy.”

After a quick moment of awkwardness, the man nodded, averting his eyes.

“Oh and um, one second okay, big guy? I’ll be right back.” She scurried into the house quickly, kicking her shoes off on the way.

Thomas watched her from the open doorway, watching as she found and piece of paper and scribbled something on to it.

“Here,” she said, tucking a few errant strands of hair behind her ear. “That’s my number. Y’all don’t hesitate to call for any reason, okay? Day, night, whatever.”

The huge man nodded slowly, folding the small piece of paper in his large hands and tucking the paper away safely in his dress shirt pocket.

It was only when she could no longer see the lantern’s light through the trees that she went inside, gently closing and locking the door behind her.


	2. Bad Moon Rising

She awoke with a sharp gasp, body rising as if on a puppeteer’s strings to sit straight up in bed. Her eyes scanned the dark room as she brought her fingers to her chest, fisting her hand in the thin fabric of her nightgown.

Something wasn’t right.

There was a chill in the air, she noticed, like an open window maybe as she bent, reaching with shaking fingers to fumble with the lamp on the bedside table. With a sharp tug to the cord, the room was suddenly illuminated in soft light, the old lamp casting shadows that seemed to play at her current state, monstrous and anxiety-inducing as they climbed the walls. She was able to see immediately why her hands felt strange, why the texture had been off when she had brushed her feet together.

Dirt, caked and flaking and messy, spattered across her knees like paint, encasing her hands and forearms like she had crawled out of her own grave.

Hazel rose immediately from the bed, heart beating wildly in her chest as she made for the light switch.

The lamp was wrong, it had to be, she thought dimly, knowing in the back of her mind that her denial made even less sense than the situation at hand.

Flipping on the overhead light revealed more pieces to the jigsaw puzzle that was a horrifying realization.

The tracks -obviously having been made by her own feet- were as clear as a trail of breadcrumbs, starting at the porch steps and then making their way through the house, the path odd as if avoiding obstacles that were not there. As she made her way through the house, she spread both arms, extending them as she walked the path, bleary eyed as if she were walking a tightrope. The path lead her down the hall and into her room, the trail of dried mud ending at her bed where she had climbed beneath the sheets some hours ago.

Had she been sleepwalking? She’d never had a problem with sleepwalking in the past.

She spent the next hour and a half cleaning herself and cleaning the floor, even going as far as to clean the dried mud off the porch. She was wide awake by then, settled on the sofa with the tv turned on but with the volume down, the sound of the infomercial background noise as she watched the sunrise beyond the curtains.

At around seven that morning, Hazel made for the phone. She dialed the familiar number on the rotary, holding the phone aloft as it rang.

_“Hello?”_ Came the voice on the other end, fuzzy with sleep.

“Did some sleepwalking last night, apparently.”

The woman on the other end hummed, used to the strange interjections and a lack of polite greetings by now. _“What makes you say that?”_

“Tracked in half the forest, Jude. Mud on my hands, mud on my feet, mud on the floor-“

_“Wait wait wait, you left the house?”_

“I did,” she confirmed, twirling the phone’s cord around her index finger idly. “Not sure how far I went because it’s all grass once you step off the porch, but believe me when I say there was enough mud to make some pig out there very happy.”

_“That sounds really dangerous, Hazel.”_

She grimaced, all lightheartedness suddenly gone from the call. “I know,” she said after a moment. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

It was only two days later that the first of the carcases appeared.

She had opened her door with a blanket around her shoulders, sniffling up a storm from the cold she had seemed to catch while galavanting about the woods in her nightgown.

When her eyes finally dropped to the planks of the old porch, she took a quick step back, startled.

The blood was viscous by now, the large jackrabbit having been killed quite some time ago. It was dead eyed and stiff, curled in on itself with its neck torn out.

She crouched down to examine it, sickened but curious, steadying herself on the door frame with one hand as she eyed the mess.

She had heard nothing through the night, no footsteps or any other indication that anyone had been near the house.

“Huh,” she said aloud, before turning around and heading inside to get her gloves.

She had tossed the rabbit in the brush a fair ways from her house and taken the water hose to the porch immediately, spraying away any mess that hadn’t yet stained.

She had snapped a few polaroids, of course, before clearing away the gore, having taken note of the singular large paw print left at the edge of the blood pool like a signature.

At least she hadn’t painted the porch yet.

 

* * *

 

In the days that followed, Hazel found herself struggling to focus. The house that had granted her freedom from the crowded city had also granted her an animal carcass and a strange onset of sleepwalking.

She would write a sentence and then rise from her chair, often wandering from room to newly-refurbished room as if in a daze. Ideas did not come to her easily, wheels churning slowly in her mind, as if greased with molasses. As she sat back in her writing chair and brought her hands to her hair, she prayed this would not become routine.

She had written only two pages in three days, a reasonable amount, perhaps, by other standards but a disappointment for her.

She took to the trails in the woods outside, wandering them aimlessly during the day and locking her door tight when the sun went down.

On days when her restlessness grew too strong, she’d find herself climbing into her pick up truck and heading into town.

The town wasn’t much; a falling-apart 24-hour grocery store, an old library, and a cracked street lined with shops. She had explored the shops twice over before moving on to the library. The selection was small -not that she expected anything else- but luckily she found what she wanted, checking out a book on identifying local wildlife before heading home.

She had arrived home with her borrowed book and her bag from the local bakery and gotten to work, pulling one of the polaroids she had taken when the gore spattered jackrabbit had appeared on her porch.

The book had told her what she wanted to know, that the paw print and the teeth marks both matched that of a wolf.

A very large wolf.

 

* * *

 

The second carcass was just as surprising.

She had heard the delivery van before she saw it, knew that she had to be quick. Twice in the past week they had approached her door, leaving a friendly yellow paper in place of an actual package. The resulting forty minute drive to the nearest post office had not been an exciting or pleasant experience.

“Ma’am there’s a- there’s a-”

“Oh,” she said, eyes flitting to the pool of blood that separated her and the delivery driver. Her eyes shifted from the fox’s body to the boy hovering in front of her, paper in hand. She took it from him slowly.

_‘Sorry, we missed you!’_ The yellow paper read, cheerful though it had no right to be.

“You had this paper ready, didn’t you?”

The boy swallowed, awkward, his eyes finally leaving the dull eyes of the fox. “I did,” he said finally, an admission of guilt.

“Might be that you didn’t pick up my package from the post office in the first place, am I right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Right. How long you been doing this, Erwin?” She asked, her eyes finding the name tag embroidered on his shirt pocket and drifting from there back to his face, covered in pockmarks and freckles.

“Two months, ma’am.”

“Do you like your job?” She stepped over the fox’s body then, eerily calm but with a growing irritation. “Does it make you happy? Does it pay your bills?”

The boy took a shaky step back, nearly falling off the top step in his haste. “Yes, ma’am,” he said again, quickly.

“Well, Erwin, this is the third package you’ve failed to deliver to me since I’ve been here. I know I live out in the middle of nowhere, alright? That’s why I _pay extra_ to have my packages delivered on time. Make sense, Erwin?”

The boy opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off immediately, dark eyes narrowed.

“So I guess what I really want to know, Erwin, is how come you’ll drive all the way out here, to the _middle of nowhere_ , to tell me you don’t have my package instead of actually _bringing_ me my damn package?”

Erwin tripped over his words, terrified, nearly pitching backwards off the steps again. “I’m sorry, I’ll-”

His eyes grew impossibly larger when the sheriff turned into the driveway, the older man pulling in and parking beside his delivery truck.

“Everything okay over here, Hazel?” The man said gruffly, stepping out of the patrol car.

_Nosey_.

“Yes, sir, just fine,” she said, her eyes never leaving those of the terrified delivery boy. “Erwin here just dropped by to let me know that he’d bring my package by in a few hours. Awful courteous of him to do so.”

“Just- just doing my job, ma’am,” he said, turning and nearly sprinting from the porch.

“What’s that?” The sheriff said, tipping his head in the direction of the mangled fox.

“You got any wolves around here, Sheriff?” Hazel asked, eyes straying from the man only long enough to watch the delivery van speed off.

The man stiffened noticeably for only a moment before forcing himself to relax. “Wolves?” The man echoed, cocking his hip and sliding his thumb into one belt loop, the picture of casual. “No wolves,” he said gruffly. “Just coyotes.”

“This is the second time this has happened, Sheriff.” She bent at the waist, examining the fox the best she could without physically touching it. “The teeth marks and paw print I found match with a wolf but the behavior doesn't make any sense. Why would it just leave a rabbit or a fox on my porch instead of eating them itself?”

“Maybe it’s worried you’re not getting enough to eat,” the sheriff laughed.

 

 

* * *

 

“The sheriff laughed when I told him, you know.”

_“Professional.”_

Hazel pursed her lips, tapping idly on the table with the capped end of her pen. “I just mean if he’s not worried, why should I be?”

_“Because he’s not the one that woke up to a mutilated bunny rabbit on his front porch?”_

“And a fox.”

There was a brief pause as the woman on the other end ruffled a few papers. _“Are you sure it wasn’t just some neighborhood kids playing a prank?”_

“Jude, believe me when I say there are no neighborhood kids.”

_“The locals, then,”_ Jude rationalized. _“How do the locals feel about you?”_

“The locals would have me for dinner every night if I let them.”

She hummed. _“Nice folks.”_

 

* * *

 

The arrival of the third carcass on her doorstep was perhaps the strangest of all.

She had nearly tripped over the massive buck on her way to check the mail. It was stiff, though not as stiff as the rabbit or fox had been, and was completely devoid of blood, something that she found very strange. She ducked down, reaching out with one hand to touch the animal’s flank, as if assuring the animal was truly dead before crouching completely. She ran her hands along the deer’s body, searching for any sign of what had killed it before coming to rest at its neck.

_Broken._

Hazel cocked her head, more confused than she had been since even the first carcass arrived. This deer didn’t match her wolf theory and frankly, made no sense. How could a wolf kill something and leave no marks or draw any blood?

She thought of her younger years on the farm, how deer was often on the menu if one of her parents had a mind to go hunting. But this deer wasn’t one she had hunted. This deer was a mystery. She shuffled from foot to foot, unsure of what to do.

On one hand, her head was telling her that an entire deer was a lot of meat to go to waste. Sure the kill method didn’t line up with the other carcasses that had shown up on her porch, but based on pattern alone, surely it had to be the same wolf, right? Would the deer even be safe to eat if not killed by humans? She was clearly no expert on the matter.

But she knew someone that might be.

As she stepped onto the trail that would lead her to the Hewitt house, she rubbed her eyes. She had slept terribly again.

Her dreams lately had been...strange, to say the least. She awoke most days unaware of what she had dreamed of the night before, recollection returning slowly throughout the day as if her dreaming memory were a sponge being slowly squeezed.

She could recall small details only, a forest here, a luminescent moon there, imagery that held no meaning to her and seemed to manifest with no reason or rhyme.

She did her best to recall the dream that had her sitting upright in bed last night, tried to remember what had been stark enough to wake her up.

As she approached the Hewitt house and rose her hand to knock, she almost reconsidered. She could have called, she supposed, could have maybe fumbled her way through a one-sided telephone conversation with the huge, silent man. She shook her head slowly before bringing her knuckles up to the large screen door, rapping at the wood four times.

“Hi, um, sorry for just dropping in like this-” she began when the older woman opened the door and stepped aside to let her in.

“Nonsense, dear,” the old woman laughed with a dismissive wave as she lead her into the kitchen. “What brings you over?”

She smiled softly. “Well, truth be told, ma’am, I was actually hoping to speak to Thomas. You said he was a butcher, if I recall correctly?”

The woman beamed, already rising from her chair. “I’ll go get him.”

She waited patiently at the kitchen table in the meantime, going over a list of questions in her head as she waited for the large man. He showed up scant moments after the woman had left, huffing slightly as if he had jogged up a set of stairs.

“I had a few questions uh, about your profession,” she said slowly and with great pause, tucking a piece of loose hair behind her ear, suddenly anxious. “I mean, if you don’t mind.”

The huge man shifted his weight, the old floorboards creaking beneath him. His breathing evened. Finally he gave a slow nod, taking the seat across from her.

She rested both elbows on the table and extended her arms, fingers tapping idly at the table. “Okay, so, eating strange meat. Good idea or bad idea?”

The man stared at her blankly before tilting his head. As if realizing that she had no intention to provide further information, he made a gesture with his hands, _come on elaborate_.

“Um, okay, so I woke up a few hours ago and found a deer on my porch. An entire deer just lying there with it’s neck broken.” At Thomas’ stare, she continued, a little quicker than before. “And, you know, normally I’d say ‘gross, Hazel, don’t eat the weird porch deer’ but I checked it over, one hundred percent, and there are no bite marks or scratches on it at all. And an entire deer? That’s a lot of meat to go to waste, right?”

Here the ever-silent man gave a nod.

“So, I was thinking, if anyone knew, it would be a butcher, right? What would you recommend?”

Predictably the man remained silent as he pondered the situation. After a moment he stood, heading for the kitchen entrance and gesturing for her to follow. He rapped twice on the wall beside the screen doors on their way out, the sound echoing too loud in the otherwise silent house.

“Okay, honey!” Luda Mae called from somewhere within the house’s depths. “Be safe!”

A sign he was going out then?

On the path that would take the pair to her house, she told him of the rabbit and the fox and the way the sheriff had laughed when she asked about wolves. “Weird, right?”

Thomas gave a quick nod, stiff.

She turned, walking backwards beside the large man, glancing over her shoulder every so often. “But the deer wasn’t like the rabbit I found, or the fox; it was clean,” she said, glancing up at the man as though expecting an answer she knew he would never give. “How could a wolf even break such a big animal’s neck like that without biting it?”

When her foot landed in a hole and she pitched backwards, Thomas’ hands were suddenly on her, reaching out and grasping her hand in his own before she realized what was happening. With her back hovering only a foot above the ground, she gazed up at the large man, a halo of sunlight around his head as he kept her from falling. She was reminded briefly of the dancers in the classes her aunt had tried to make her take when she was younger, how graceful and slender and fragile they seemed to be.

“Fast reflexes,” she marveled as the man pulled her carefully into an upright position and then promptly let go, trusting her to steady herself.

They approached the porch together, side by side on the pathway of stones that she had had installed, leading from the driveway to the steps.

“So what’s the plan here, big guy? Want me to pull the truck around?”

The man crouched down to inspect the deer, giving a firm shake of his head.

“Okay, then, what-“

She was stunned into silence when he hefted the massive creature onto his shoulder with a grunt. The action was downright impressive in its casualness, startling as if the deer didn’t easily weigh 150 pounds.

“Wuh-“ she started, all thoughts grinding to a halt. She took in the powerful picture the man made, deer hefted over his shoulder and his back muscles flexing under the unforgiving gaze of the hot Texan sun.

She felt a fluttering in her stomach and she brought her hand to it dumbly, her fingers flexing against the fabric.

Oh no.

She turned away sharply, as if embarrassed for staring.

He looked at her with curious eyes, tilting his head slightly in confusion.

“So, did you want me to pull the truck around or…?”

The man shook his head once more, pointing to the deer on his shoulder and then to the path that would take him back home.

She balked. “Surely not the whole way.”

Again the man nodded, a quick up and down motion of his head. He made his way carefully down the porch steps, unbothered as they groaned under his weight.

When he stepped around her, a swarm of butterflies took flight in her chest, fluttering on wings of uncertainty. Should she follow? What was the etiquette for this kind of situation?

When he turned to look at her from the path that would take him home, he raised one hand, then just one finger. He then pointed to himself and then towards his home.

_Wait_ , she interpreted, _I’ll go alone._

“Okay,” she said slowly. “I guess I’ll...wait here then?”

When the man nodded and turned again, moving down the path, she found herself leaning against the porch railing, watching him as he ventured off her homemade trail and crossed into the tree line.

“I’ll see you later, I guess?” She called out to him. “Maybe tomorrow?” She paused, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She cupped her hands around her lips and called again. “I don’t know how this works, Tommy! Call me!”

He paused for only a second, raising one thumb in a ‘thumbs up’ motion before continuing on his way.

“Cool,” she said softly. “That tells me absolutely nothing.”

Hazel watched the man’s barely visible retreating form for another moment, her eyes trained on the treeline. After a moment she shrugged, making her way back into her house. She could feel inspiration at her fingertips, a strange but not unwelcome feeling after so long without.

She wondered if he’d call.

At least there was no mess to clean up this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates on this may be slow because my beta reader is in school right now and he's a busy dude. Just know that I definitely haven't forgotten about this fic!


	3. Hooked On A Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone up for a little Thomas point of view?

In the moments just before he slid open the heavy basement door, Thomas knew there was someone new in the house.

She was short and of a heavier build with bright, friendly eyes that hit him with a sense of familiarity. Her hair was long and dark, with soft curls that framed her face and trailed down her back in a cascading wave. There was a light dusting of freckles across her forehead, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, beautiful as if spattered from an artist’s paintbrush and barely visible in the low light of the large house. Her bottom lip was full, pouty and showing indents from the anxious press of teeth against the soft skin, her eyes a shiny slate gray as she looked him over.

She smelled like honeysuckle and soap, clean and somehow familiar, her small hands wringing nervously at her middle. He inhaled deeply at the smell before he could stop himself, as if unable to get enough of it,

He glanced to Luda Mae, tense as she moved both hands to the girls shoulders, grounding her. “You remember Hazel, don’t you, Thomas? From next door?”

Her mouth fell open then, a small ‘o’ of surprise.

He resisted the urge to turn from her at that moment, to hide what little he knew she could see of his face, to return to the basement. He had been raised to treat the house as his territory, been told that he would never have to run or hide inside of it. He trusted and respected his mama more than anyone else in the world but what on earth was she thinking bringing someone here?

Her eyes flitted across his form again before stepping forward quickly, the action so sudden, it surprised him. He stepped back quickly in response, his back scant inches from the hard steel of the sliding door behind him. He felt trapped, cornered, for the first time since he was a boy, for the first time since he had grown tall and strong.

She looked away sharply at the reaction, her eyes finding the floor and her lips turning downward as she slid her hands into the pockets of her cardigan.

 

* * *

 

Dinner was hell.

She lit up the room like a thousand fireflies, her voice like a bell as she navigated his family’s questions effortlessly.

He wondered how things had turned out so differently for the pair of them, how two people that had been so close as children could turn out to be so completely different. He wondered how she was raised after her parents sent her away, what could have became of them if she had never left.

He shook away the thought with some difficulty, returning to his stew.

His mother said embarrassing things, often drawing the dinner conversation in his direction, something he dreaded very much.

“You know, honey, Tommy sure did miss you when you moved away.”

Again, he was humiliated as she looked over at him, her smile and eyes both soft, fond almost. “Yeah?”

As his mama described the night she left, the girl - _Hazel_ , he reminded himself, this was _Hazel_ \- listened with rapt attention, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks as if she herself were unfamiliar with the story.

Thomas wondered how much she actually remembered.

The conversation shifted at the dinner table many times, changing direction as suddenly as the wind. When his mother brought up the bones Hazel had found on her back porch, he tensed again.

Of course she had seen the bones, it was her house.

He had used the old back porch many times in the past as a makeshift shelter from the rain and other elements, often taking his kills there to enjoy after a hunt. How was he to know that she would ever come back?

When she asked if she should get a gun for self defense, he could feel the air change again.

His family knew what he was, of course, knew what sort of terrible things he was capable of. When he was younger, it had hurt him that his family thought of him this way, but now he stamped it down easily.

 

* * *

 

After dinner, when his mother pulled him down by his shirt collar and whispered for him to be a gentlemen, for a moment he had no idea what what going on.

“It’s awful dark out there,” the older woman had said, a small smile adorning her face. “I’m sure Tommy here would be happy to walk you home, dear.”

He could hear the other woman sputtering, in embarrassment maybe or something else. He clenched his fists at his side.

“It’s a short walk and I’m sure Tommy is plenty busy.”

There was a small rumbling in his chest, a pleased noise threatening to spill out.

She had called him Tommy, just like when they were kids.

In the end, Luda Mae had passed him a lantern and sent them on their way.

The walk to her house was significantly less tense, something he was incredibly grateful for.

She wasn’t scared of him like most people were, didn’t tense if he moved too fast and didn’t stutter in fear. It was miraculous how she had managed to brush aside his standoffishness from earlier, speaking to him now as she would an old friend.

“I missed you too, you know,” she said softly, after a few moments, her small legs barely keeping stride with his own, something his mama would chide him for had she seen. She hummed, nostalgic almost. “Broke a window when my parents told me I was being sent away.”

She spoke of her past then, what had happened after her parents sent her away. Her aunt was unkind to her, firm and unyielding and quick to lash out, he interpreted. He imagined her in her youth, laughing and wild before the unruly pieces of her had been trimmed away. He wondered how she would have turned out if she had grown up on the farm with her parents and older sister.

He wondered how he would have turned out.

She brushed off the negative memories with an uncomfortable laugh, shedding the entirety of the situation like a winter sweater. She bumped her shoulder against his arm playfully, a grin creeping across her face. “Enough about me though, look at _you!_ You’re so big now I bet you could lift me with one arm!”

He looked over, considering. She was a big girl, sure, but Thomas was strong. He gave a slow nod.

This drew a genuine laugh from her, a sound that made his chest ignite with a strange warmth.

As they broke the treeline and stepped onto her property, she continued to ramble on beside of him, amicable, as if completely unbothered by his silence and more than willing to fill it herself. More than once she stepped into his space, brushing their arms together and laughing, friendly and trusting although they had only just now been reacquainted.

When the path narrowed and she reached for his hand, he was too surprised to pull away. She steered him easily onto the path in front of them, the lantern swinging from his white-knuckled grip and lighting up the night around them. Their hands remained connected, her small hand in his, until they reached the porch.

“I really appreciate you walking me home, you know, after all the coyote talk at dinner. And all the way to the door no less? What a gentleman.” She said, smiling in a way that made her nose crinkle. “Thank you, Tommy.”

_Tommy_. There it was again.

“Oh and um, one second okay, big guy? I’ll be right back.” She broke away from him suddenly, toeing her shoes off at the door and making her way inside. There was the sound of a pen scratching on paper, barely audible over his heart pumping blood into his ears.

Thomas had never been a big fan of people calling him ‘big guy’ before. He had heard it many times before at the slaughter house where he had worked, but the words were always broken up or lead by ‘dumb’ or ‘useless.’ In this case, it was nice, warm almost.

When she returned moments later with her number scribbled on a piece of paper, speaking to him softly about calling her whenever he wanted, he was unable to focus on anything but the curl of her hair around her face. With a slow nod, he folded the paper carefully, tucking it away into his pocket for safe keeping as he stepped off the porch. Thomas was aware of her eyes on him until he crossed the property line, the thick shrubbery soon blocking his lantern light from her view.

He returned home soon after that, snuffing out his desire to shift and take a run through the woods.

He longed to shed his human skin, to stretch, longed to roll in the leaves in joy. He also knew his mama would never approve of him shifting unless they were running low on meat, the woman preferring he kept all inhuman instincts bundled up and safe until the full moon.

It had been a good night.

It had been _such_ a good night.

Thomas stepped into the house with a smile tugging at the marred skin beneath his mask. He toed off his boots and made for the kitchen, making sure everything had been cleaned up so his mother wouldn’t have to worry about it later.

He stopped short, sniffing. Why could he still smell Hazel so strongly? Had she left something behind?

When he saw her light cardigan, he froze, his eyes shifting first to the left and then to the right, as if expecting to get in trouble merely for being in the same room with the loose garment. He stepped forward cautiously, lifting the piece of clothing slowly to his nose.  

The cardigan was soft under his calloused hands, well worn as if it had been washed many times. The smell was her, all her, fresh and bright, familiar from childhood and from their reacquaintance that night.

He was struck by a strange desire then, something he hadn’t done since he was a boy.

He tucked the garment to his chest, climbing the staircase as quietly as possible to avoid questions. He opened and closed his door carefully, sliding the lock home as he tossed the garment onto his bed. Thomas stared at it for a moment, his fingers twitching as he considered.

He gave the old bed a once over, pacing around to the other side before lowering himself to sit carefully, the furniture creaking under his weight but holding. He brought the garment to his nose, inhaling deeply as he rolled onto his back.

He recalled how they had played as children, how her smell had comforted him many days when things had gotten hard at school. He recalled her giving him one of her favorite shirts to comfort him before she had moved away, how often he had rolled on it and how quickly her scent had faded.

Thomas wondered now how much she remembered about their friendship.

He wondered if she remembered what he was.

He shook the thought from his mind, bringing the cardigan back to his face and breathing deeply.

He felt a warmth in his chest that he had never felt before, a desire for closeness that made all those songs on the radio suddenly make sense. He wanted to draw her in, to be near her, to provide for her in the way Mama taught him that men were supposed to provide for women.

Thomas was in too deep.

 

* * *

 

When he left the first corpse on her porch, he wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting. Certainly not confetti and certainly not a parade. Should he stick around and wait for her to find it? That could take hours.

The jackrabbit had been quick but not too difficult to catch, especially after he had shifted.

He wasn’t even entirely sure why he had done it, leaving the animal for her to find, only that he wanted to show her how fast and capable he was and what was faster than a jackrabbit? More importantly, the action showed her that he could provide for her.

When he found the jackrabbit later that night in the brush near the back of her house, the carcass picked over by coyotes, he felt the corner of his lip curl, presenting large teeth, displeased.

Why hadn’t she taken it inside? Had she not liked it? What had he done wrong? Maybe it had gone stiff too soon?

The second gift was a fox, more than large enough for a meal. He killed it much in the same way, with his teeth at its throat. It had been harder to kill than the jackrabbit, smarter. He’d had to stalk it for longer, sure, but growing up prowling these woods meant that he had an excellent understanding of the terrain.

He’d left the fox on her porch much the same way he had the rabbit, heading home quickly and climbing into bed before any of his family members had seen that he shifted.

 

* * *

 

“Now, I know what you’re doing, boy,” the sheriff said, catching him by the arm as he began to climb the stairs to his room. “You’re the one leaving dead things on that girl’s porch, ain’t ya?”

Thomas stiffened.

“That’s what I thought,” the man grimaced, pulling the larger man away from the steps. “Now you can’t be doing that, Tommy. She’s a smart girl. Do you want her to figure out what you are?”

Thomas looked away, his stomach clenching. Slowly, he shook his head.

“That’s a good boy, Thomas. I would have hated to have to tell Mama.” Charlie turned from him then, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder in parting. “Besides, what makes you think she’d wanna eat something that looks like it was pulled out of a garbage disposal? Looked right bloody to me, Tommy, and that just ain’t what girls like.” He paused, laughing. “Didn’t look like the fella she had with her much appreciated it either.”

He turned away, anger now swirling in the pit of his stomach. His brow furrowed as he climbed the stairs to his room.

There had been a man with her?

He shook the jealousy away, settling in the center of his bed and pulling her cardigan from under the pillow. He would return it soon, he decided, at the very least to have her smell refreshed on it. He wondered if she would wash it first or if she would just slip it on, a prospect that excited him to no end. The thought of her wearing something that smelled like him made his heart soar.

His dragged himself from those thoughts also, focusing instead on what Charlie had told him about his gifts. Maybe she didn’t like mess?

He would have to try harder.

 

* * *

 

His third and final gift was a deer, it’s neck carefully broken in a way that would spill no blood.

He smelled her on the trails that night, almost distracting, her scent lingering from days of long walks through the forest.

Thomas had taken a careful and new approach to hunting the creature, sneaking up behind it in his human form and then using all of his strength to wrestle the deer to the ground. He had broken its neck quickly, painlessly, the animal going limp under his strong hands.

He had placed the deer on her doorstep before dawn as quietly as possible, cautious of any noise that could be made with such a large animal.

As he made his way back home, climbing the stairs to his room and climbing into bed, exhausted.

He found himself hoping that this gift was the one.

 

* * *

 

Thomas knew she was downstairs long before his mother came to his door to get him. He felt bad, almost, for making the older woman climb the old staircase, but much better that than chance having her think he was eavesdropping.

He took the stairs two at a time on the way down, nearly breathless by the time he hit the landing and made his way into the kitchen.

She was waiting for him there at the table, shifting anxiously in the rickety old chair closest to the window  She looked concerned, out of character even, chewing at her fingernails even as he approached.

“I had a few questions uh, about your profession,” she said with some hesitation. “I mean, if you don’t mind.”

She talked him easily through the deer that had turned up mysteriously on the front porch and how strange it had been that there was no blood. She was at odds with herself, whether or not the strangely delivered meat was safe for human consumption.

“So, I was thinking, if anyone knew, it would be a butcher, right? What would you recommend?”

Under normal circumstances, the answer to her question would have been a resounding ‘no, Hazel do not eat the strange animal you found dead on your front porch.’

But the animal was no mystery to Thomas.

There was a pleased rumbling in his chest that threatened to spill out vocally.

She had come to him for advice. She wanted to eat the deer he had gifted her. His heart sang.

Schooling his reaction, he stood slowly, gesturing for the woman to follow him as he made his way out of the kitchen and to the front door. He knocked twice on the wall, loudly, to announce that he was going out, a system that he had worked out with his mama some time ago.

She chatted to him in what was shaping up to be her usual fashion as the pair made their way along the wooded trail. She told him of the rabbit she had found on her porch and how the fox had followed, how the sheriff had laughed when she asked him about wolves. “Weird, right?” She laughed. Hazel turned, walking backwards along the path, nonchalant as she continued talking, friendly.

But Thomas didn’t hear any of it. The sheriff had been right about his obviousness; she had figured him out.

Suddenly she was pitching backwards, her words dying in her throat as the ground came up to meet her. Her hand moved towards him, as if on reflex maybe, perhaps trying to grab onto whatever she could find.

Thomas’ hands reached before he knew he was moving, grabbing her much smaller hand in his own, supporting her weight easily as she hovered, nearly a foot from the ground. He could feel as her hand flexed under his larger one, spurred into action even contained.

For a moment, neither of them moved, the pair startled by the suddenness of what had happened. It had seemed so slow in the moment, the pair gravitating towards each other on instinct.

“Fast reflexes,” she said, breathless as Thomas pulled her into an upright position.

The rest of the walk wasn’t nearly as eventful, Hazel having quickly learned her lesson. They approached the house, dried Texan grass crunching underfoot as they made their way to the stepping stones that lead up to her porch.

“So what’s the plan here, big guy?” Hazel said. “Want me to pull the truck around?”

He crouched beside the deer, placing his hand on its side briefly before shaking his head.

She was in the middle of speaking again when he hefted the deer onto his shoulder, the question dying on her lips as her eyes went wide.

The look that crossed her face when he lifted the deer onto his shoulder was something he would cherish for a very long time.

He could feel the gears behind her eyes struggling to turn, as if the thought of him lifting the deer had never crossed her mind. He watched as she moved a hand to her stomach slowly, watched as a strange look crossed her face, as if she was unfamiliar with whatever she was feeling. He could tell she had been spending more time in the sun lately, her freckles darker and more defined, visible even with the heat rushing to her cheeks.

She came back to herself quickly, straightening her spine and taking a slow breath. “So, did you want me to pull the truck around or…?” She asked again, exuding a confidence she had been missing only moments before.

For a second time, Thomas shook his head, gesturing from the deer to the far off path, a message he hoped that she would receive without difficulty.

Again, it would seem, he had caught her by surprise. “Surely not the whole way.”

He gave a quick nod, firm, before making his way down the steps and beginning the trek across the yard. He gave her a thumbs up for the trail when still she yelled for him, his own thoughts buzzing around his head like a hornet’s nest.

He shifted the deer on his shoulder as he disappeared into the tree line. Lifting the deer hadn’t just been for show, the path through the forest the easiest route between their homes.

He smiled beneath his mask.

He had made his impression.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM WEREWOLF TWIST OUTTA NOWHERE! Sorry if that’s not your cup of tea but it’s absolutely mine and I am 100% on this werewolf train choo choo


	4. Superstition

Things had gotten stranger.

The cemetery was rundown, small, fifteen graves or less. The headstones were no more than crumbling rock now, crooked and sad and overgrown with vegetation.

She stood by the rusted cemetery gate in confusion, staring down at hands and feet that had been clean when she had gone to bed but were now crusted in dirt.

She scowled.

It had happened again then.

But this was not her bed and this was not her home. She fidgeted, crossing both arms over her chest and moving her hands to squeeze nervously at her shoulders. Her arms were bare, something that made her uncomfortable, her nightgown seeming to cover less skin in the brightness of day. Despite this, it was August and she certainly was not cold, the Texan heat ever present even as summer began to wear down.

She noticed the grave nearest to her had been disturbed, the dead grass turned over in clumps and set aside. Upon closer inspection, she noticed small divots, as if an animal had been digging there.  

She froze, pulling away from the grave and resisting the urge to inspect her own hands, refusing to even entertain the idea that those marks could have been from her. She tucked both hands under her arms, scratching restlessly at the fabric of her flimsy nightgown as she turned away from the grave and then back and then away again.

As she looked to the Spanish moss swaying gently in the breeze, she found herself inspecting the old cemetery with more scrutiny, her eyes roving the old grave markers and plaques. She hadn’t even known there was an cemetary out here.

Hazel looked to the forest beyond the gate, checking for any familiarities before her eyes settled on the ground, the imprints from her feet clear as day in the early morning light. She glanced down at her feet then, wiggling her toes and grimacing as the mud dried between them flaked and shifted.

When she turned, preparing herself to leave, she paused. As her dirty hand hovered over the old gate, a strange feeling bubbled up inside of her, an urge filling her suddenly to turn and stoop, to look at the grave that had caught her eye. She lifted the hem of her nightgown to mid-thigh, dropping to her knees in the soft dirt and leaning forward.

_Fern Young_ , the grave read. _1850 - 1921_

She ducked towards the stone, her hand finding the surface as she pressed in closer, inspecting.

_Alea iacta est._

She rose from her knees slowly, the joints groaning in protest as she brushed the loose dirt away with fingers still caked in mud.

The walk back home was not a pleasant one. Multiple times she had to stop, stepping accidentally in a tangle of briars or to free her nightgown from the stray limbs that pulled at her.

The cemetery -she discovered- was nestled around what had to be the center of the woods, woods that were larger than she had imagined. She wondered what other secrets lie in the forest that she was not yet aware of.

She was able to follow her footprints back to the trail, almost appreciative for yesterday’s heavy downpour and the way the soil inside the forest seemed to retain water.

As she climbed the steps to her front porch, she was grateful that she had thought to leave her watering hose out just in case of any more strange happenings. She hosed off her hands and feet, wincing all the while at the harsh pressure and the cold water that bit at her skin.

Hazel entered her home then, placing her clothes immediately into the washing machine before climbing into the shower herself.

The shower was meant to be quick, efficient, meant to rid her of any stray dirt or mud that caked her skin. Instead, she found her mind wandering as she enjoyed the feeling of the warm water on her back. She sighed beneath the stream, eyes closed as she worked the shampoo into her tangled curls.

She exited the shower carefully, dropping one towel to the floor for her to stand on before running the other towel through her hair. She towel dried her head furiously for a moment, allowing her tangled mass of dark locks to fall in a curtain around her face. When she finally parted her hair and lifted her head, looking up at her reflection in the mirror, she froze, her blood running cold.

_Alea iacta est_

She brought her fingertips to the writing on the mirror slowly, running one fingertip across the message. She wondered when it was written. She looked around slowly, paranoid, before shaking the feeling away. It had been written recently, she judged, though the lack of drips accompanying the message told her that it had not been while she was in the shower, thank god.

The handwriting was strange, old fashioned with looping letters that looked more like that of an older woman than anything she had seen in a slasher film.

She had dressed quickly, creeping towards the front of the house on bare feet. She grabbed for the baseball bat resting by the front door, it’s bright, curly bow still in place as she pulled it close.

_“A gift,” her sister had told her, pressing the shiny metal bat into her hands. “You never know what’ll happen out there in the country.”_

As she went through, thoroughly checking the house room by room, she found her paranoia growing. She checked closets, under beds, and behind doors, all the while her bat raised and ready.

Someone had been _inside her home_.

After finishing up her search on the back porch -here she waited a moment, furiously wiggling the door’s handle to confirm it’s locked status- she returned to her study, bat finally lowered at her side.

Hazel sat down in her chair then, running shaking fingers through her still-drying hair. She relented her white-knuckled grip on the bat finally, leaning it against the wall by her desk before picking up the phone and dialing the number of her friend.

“I’m losing it, Jude,” she said, the instant the phone was picked up.

There was a shuffling of papers, the small clinking of a coffee cup being set down. _“Hello to you, too,”_ she said. _“What’s going on?”_

Hazel hesitated for a moment. “What do you know about sleepwalking?”

The woman on the phone hummed. _“Not my area of expertise.”_ A pause, accusing almost. _“Don’t tell me it’s gotten worse.”_

“It’s gotten worse.”

_“But tell me you didn’t leave the house again.”_

“I left the house again.”

There was a noise on the other end of the phone line, the creaking of a door opening, then the soft shutting of a cabinet door. _“Hazel.”_

She grimaced. “Jude.”

The woman sounded exasperated when she spoke next. _“As long as you woke up in your bed, right?”_

Hazel frowned and said nothing.

_“Hazel,”_ she said again, almost desperately. _“Hazel, tell me you woke up in your bed.”_

She pursed her lips, tapping her fingers idly on the kitchen counter. “I won’t lie to you, Jude.”

_“Go to a sleep specialist. Schedule an appointment and mark everything down in the meantime.”_

“Is that your professional opinion?” Hazel asked.

_“As your friend, that’s also my personal opinion.”_

She hummed, pacing to her desk then and gently moving her papers aside. She threw open her desk calendar and examined the month of August with roving eyes.

Cemetery, she wrote under the day’s date, twice underlined. And then as an afterthought  Mirror.

  


* * *

 

Her second sleepwalking event of the month happened immediately after the first.

“Hazel, honey, are you alright?”

She came to awareness slowly. “Yes?” She asked, confusion evident in her voice. Hadn’t she been alone only moments ago?

She wondered why the Hewitts were gathered around her in their night clothes, looked down to wonder why she herself was in her nightclothes.

Oh no.

She stood awkwardly from the Hewitt’s front porch swing, a strange clattering in her pockets that weighed down her cardigan on both sides. Her feet were bare, something she had unfortunately grown used to by this point, but the light cardigan on her arms was new and she found herself grateful for the change.

“I’m so sorry to bother you fine folks,” she said with a laugh, her false joviality obvious to her but hopefully not as obvious to the Hewitts. “Just a touch of sleepwalking, I’m afraid. I’ll get out of your hair.”

“But you’re so pale, dear. Won’t you stay for breakfast?”

Though she found herself to be decidedly not hungry, she thought of the Swanson meal she had microwaved last night, how it was good but not quite comparable to anything homemade. Maybe she should take a cooking class.

Luda Mae reached out then, placing the back of her hand to her forehead the way that mothers did before moving the same hand to her cheek. “You feel warm, honey.”

“Oh no, ma’am, I’m fine,” she said, her own voice sounding strange and far away in her ears.

“Nonsense,” the older woman said, placing one hand on her upper back and ushering her past the sheriff and into the house. She steered her through the kitchen, and into the dining area, brushing away her apologies for the mess on her feet, entirely unbothered.

“We’re country folk, dear, a little mess ain’t never mattered to us,” the older woman said as she guided her to a chair.

She considered slipping off her cardigan then, but did not want to seem indecent. Instead she reached cautiously for the heaviness in her pockets, investigating.

Stones, she discovered as Luda Mae piled too much food on her plate. Stones rubbed smooth as if from a river, though she could not recall any river being nearby.

Breakfast was a nearly enough to be considered a feast. The biscuits were fluffy, light, the sausage gamey and easily recognizable as deer. As she slid the food around on her plate, she felt as Luda Mae came behind her, hovering quietly.

“Yes?” Hazel asked, already dreading any answer that may come.

“Honey, it’s just that...you seem to have some leaves in your hair. Would you mind terribly if I picked them out?”

She felt heat rush to her cheeks. How embarrassing.

She was torn then, between having the leaves in her hair -an embarrassing ordeal- or relenting, allowing the older woman pick the leaves from her hair -also incredibly embarrassing- neither action particularly wanted.

“I’d appreciate that very much,” she lied, sitting up straighter in her chair so as to give the woman easier access to the tangled mess that was her hair.

“These are some pretty braids you have in, dear.” Luda Mae said after a few moments, patient as she picked the sticks and leaves from her hair.

“Braids?” She echoed quietly, lowering her cup of breakfast tea to the table.

“They look so complicated. Did they take very long?”

“No, I don’t suppose,” she said, her voice hollow in her own ears.

She had never learned how to braid hair, not even as a little girl.

Hazel stood from the table slowly, a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach and an apologetic look on her face as the older woman startled at the action. “I should go,” she said. She felt queasy, nauseous, the plate of food in front of her barely touched.

“I understand,” Luda Mae replied, turning to the sheriff as he ate his own breakfast. “Charlie give the young lady a ride home, won’t ya?”

“No, no,” she said, her voice sounding weak even to her own ears. “I think a little walk would straighten me out just fine.”

Luda Mae, unconvinced, eventually relented, guiding her gently to the front door and sending her on her way with an old, crocheted blanket around her shoulders.

As she stepped off the porch, she could hear the Hewitts speaking then, hushed voices that carried all the way to the beginning of the trail.

“How long do you think she was out sittin’ on the porch? Do you think she saw Tommy?”

“Moon was awful bright last night,” the sheriff said. “Might be that she did.”

She wondered why the pair sounded so grim, why Tommy would even be out so late in the first place. She tuned out the pair then, unwilling to eavesdrop further.

The path that would take her from the Hewitt’s house to her own was quiet, as if the birds themselves had not woken up yet. She chewed her fingernails as she walked, a terrible habit she had only picked up recently, her arms pulled close, protective almost to her chest.

Two nights in a row?

The sleepwalking situation was now entirely out of hand. She would go home and settle her nerves then call a specialist later in the afternoon, she decided. She prayed there would be some kind of solution to this, some kind of quick-fix that wasn’t the equivalent of slapping a bandaid on it.

Though at this point, even a bandaid would be a blessing.

Hazel reached back, feeling in the tangled mass of her hair for the braids Luda Mae had spotted, tugging them over her shoulder with unsure fingers. She felt the texture for a moment, as if trying to remember when there was an opportunity for someone to put braids in her hair.

Was it possible that Luda Mae had done the braids herself as she picked at the leaves?

She shook the thought away. How paranoid. She would have felt it, anyway.

She reached into her pockets then, curling her fingers around a smooth stone and bringing it up to inspect it.

Why on earth would she stuff her pockets with stones?

Hazel considered emptying her pockets then but thought better of it, the compulsion to hold onto the stones nearly overwhelming.

She dropped her cardigan as soon as she stepped through her door, the heavy _thunk_ of the garment on the floor almost enough to make her wince.

She showered again, same as yesterday, ignoring the same phrase on the mirror as she dressed in clean, comfortable clothes and dried her hair.

She made her way to her desk then, pulling a pen from the drawer and bringing it to the nearly empty page of her calendar. Two days in a row she had sleepwalked, waking up cold and disoriented outside of her home.

She thought of an old superstition she had heard as a girl, that bad things always come in threes.

As Hazel marked her second sleepwalking adventure and the strange stones on her calendar, she found herself hoping that that wasn’t the case.

When she turned on her lamp to give herself just a little more light, she was met with another oddity.

She closed her eyes and inhaled, as if bracing herself before she removed the sticky note from the inside of the lampshade.

_Check the cemetery._

She rose from her seat, exhaling deeply through her nose as she grabbed again for the baseball bat.

She was already tired of this.

Hazel searched her house again then, high and low, rechecking the locks on the windows and the door on the back porch. Satisfied, she turned to exit the small room at the back of the house, eyes catching something suddenly that gave her pause and had her tilting her head in confusion.

A pile of stones sat in the corner by the door that lead to the inside of the house, the stack almost five inches high and rubbed smooth.

She thought of the rocks that had lined her pockets then, how she had come home and dropped her entire cardigan by the door, stones and all. She felt a strange compulsion then, to stack the rocks with the others, to build until the pile was large enough.

She blinked.

Large enough for _what?_

She shook her head. She was no slave to her compulsions. She would throw the stones out later, she decided, all of them.

When she returned to her study and took her seat, she found herself dialing the familiar number of her friend.

“Jude, I think my house is haunted.”

_“What?”_

She explained the smooth stones and how she had never learned how to braid hair, explained the mirror and the sticky note in the strange handwriting completely unlike her own. “And I checked the locks and everything, no one else has been in this house.”

_“Well what did they say?”_ Jude asked.

“What?”

_“The note and mirror, Hazel, try to stay focused here.”_

“Umm, well the bathroom mirror had a Latin phrase written on it. Or at least it looked like Latin. _Alea iacta est_ .” Hazel scratched at the back of her head, shifting the phone from one ear to the other. “You know, whatever _that_ means.”

_“Oh. I mean your pronunciation is off but that’s definitely Latin. It means ‘the die is cast.’”_

“Which means…?”

_“Something along the lines of ‘its up to fate’ or ‘its out of our hands.’”_

“Huh.” Hazel said.

_“And the sticky note?”_

“‘Check the cemetery.’ Like how unnecessarily cryptic do you need to be? I was just at the cemetery like two nights ago.”

_“You were_ where _two nights ago?”_

“Listen, it’s not important. What’s important is that I’m being haunted.”

_“Are you sure you aren’t just losing your mind?”_ Jude asked, her tone suggesting that she’d much rather prefer the former idea over the latter.

There was a knock at the door then, soft, barely audible from the room she was in.

“Hey I have to go, someone is knocking on the door.”

_“Alright. Talk later?”_

“Always.”

She lowered the phone carefully back into its cradle, turning and making immediately for the door. She gave a quick glance through the peephole before stepping back to open it fully. “Luda Mae, hello!” She said, bright but anxious of the woman’s arrival. “What brings you around to my neck of the woods?”

“Now honey, I’m awful sorry to bother you like this-“

“No, no, you’re totally fine,” she said, steeling herself. This is the part where Luda Mae would ask about this morning. This is the part where Luda Mae would bring into the light her odd sleepwalking and then she’d truly have to face it.

“It’s about Thomas, dear,” the older woman said, her voice just shy of distressed. “He’s missing.”

“Missing?” Hazel echoed, concerned.

“Now I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you. He’s a tough fella and it ain’t uncommon for him to be gone for a couple of days at a time,” the woman explained. “Suppose I was just wondering if you’ve seen him.”

Hazel shook her head slowly. “No ma’am, I’m afraid it’s been a few days since I have.”

The older woman gave a nod, as if she had expected this all along. She turned towards the sheriff’s cruiser and spoke over her shoulder, a soft frown playing at her lips.  “I understand, dear. Just give me a holler if you see him.”

Hazel closed the door slowly, returning to her study with a nervous feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. She took her seat, tapping with the capped end of her pen against her desk calendar before turning to her typewriter.

It had been a weird few days but she wouldn’t allow her strange sleepwalking to interfere with her deadlines.

Still her mind drifted to what Luda Mae had said, about Tommy and how he was missing.

“Just give me a holler if you see him,” her brain echoed, something about the phrase sitting strangely with her. She understood the woman’s concern, of course, but the fact that she had even said it was odd, as if for some reason she would be more likely to see Thomas than his own mother.

Her digits flew across the buttons as she typed, brain elsewhere but fingers still moving as if on instinct. She thought back to her sleepwalking and pondered the odds that it would or would not happen again tonight. Hazel would simply stay up, she decided, as missing a single night of sleep would be less detrimental to her work than another strange bout of sleepwalking.

She came back to herself slowly, eyes refocusing and fingers finally slowing on the keys. She pulled the paper out, satisfied, flipping it over nonchalantly in her hands before freezing.

alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est alea iacta est

Hazel dropped her head into her hands, palms over both eyes as she breathed slowly. She brushed shaking fingers across her forehead, crumbling the paper up furiously with her free hand and then tossing it into the waste bin. She stood from her chair, frustrated.

It was clear that today was not a day for typing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Tommy this chapter! Sorry! ):
> 
> The next chapter will be from his point of view though!


	5. Lean On Me

The full moon was always an interesting time for Thomas Hewitt. He relished the rare nights where he could shed his human skin and hunt without shame, _exist_ without shame, prowling the woods for the prey that would sustain his family.

He felt great pressure on these nights, knowing that if he failed to bring home meat, his family would have to resort to other, less conventional means to feed themselves.

These were the times when Thomas felt most like a monster.

He hated feeling like a failure, hated taking lives because he had failed to put food on the table. He hated the times when he couldn’t provide well enough, when Charlie had to flag down some poor souls on the highway or his mama had to direct some strays -barely old enough to be on their own- to their home.

Everyone did their part, Thomas knew, but the days where he failed to provide were days where people died. And it wasn’t just his family he was providing for now, either.

His heart thumped in his chest at the memory of Hazel and how she had thanked him profusely when he delivered the butchered deer.

“Oh no, Tommy, I could never eat all of this! Please, I’d feel so much better if you took some back to your family.”

He had shaken his head, lifting and pointing one finger at her chest.

“Then let me pay you at least.”

Again, the man shook his head. To make her pay for a gift would defeat the purpose.

She invited him in then, leading him to the kitchen and instructing him to place the meat on the table.

The house had changed a lot since Thomas had been there last. The furniture was new, fresh, but smelling heavily of her.

Everything smelled so much of her.

The floor had been repainted, he noticed, the grooves he had left on the floor with his claws barely visible under the new layer of paint.

He stood patiently as she opened the freezer for him, the space relatively baron save for a single microwavable meal, similar to the ones he had seen advertised on the television. He wanted to check the fridge also, to snoop though he knew it was rude, to make sure she was eating and to make sure it was enough.

He made a mental note to have mama invite her over for dinner more often, on the nights when they had plenty of deer or wild pig to go around.

 

* * *

 

He was in the process of hunting when he caught a familiar scent, one that had him veering off his hunting trail and onto a small, almost nonexistent path.

_Her._

He followed the smell, following the trail of footprints leading to the old cemetery

The cemetery was small and for the most part unfamiliar to him. It was old trees and faded grave markers, eerily silent. He had been there a few times, of course, he had been all over the forest, but the cemetery was poor for hunting as no animals would seem to step foot there.

Still he followed the scent, the smell still fresh on the ground and on the trees around him, as if she had been touching them fondly as she passed them. He tracked the pair of footprints with his eyes as he crept close to the ground, his nose almost to the mud.

After a quick walk around the cemetery, he found one place where her scent seemed to be at its strongest. The grave had been disturbed, he could see, but with only the light of the full moon to guide him, he could not make out the name. He circled the grave once, the smell of fresh dirt just under his nose as he pressed in closer-

- _SNAP!_

The old bear trap was pointed teeth at his ankle, sudden and unforgiving and sharp. His throat struggled to work but no sound came out, his teeth grit and lips curled in pain. He pulled once, twice, a low whine finally slipping past his teeth when the action only sank the trap’s jagged edges in further.

With the sun only a couple of hours from rising and with no one in the world that knew where to find him, Thomas felt a sense of uneasiness growing in the pit of his stomach.

Thomas was in trouble.

 

* * *

 

The long hours that passed while in the trap were perhaps some of the most nerve wracking of his life.

Thomas had not been outside in his wolf form while the sun was out in a very long time. He was hyper aware of everything around him, terrified that at any moment someone would come through the trees and see him.

He had tried many times to transform, to free himself from the trap but found he could not. There was the familiar shift of bones under his skin and then nothing, like the fuse on a stick of dynamite fizzling out just before the explosion.

So under the hot, Texan sun he waited. Every noise was pure hell, so much so that even the squirrels jumping between twigs overhead set his teeth on edge and the ravens cawing in the branches of a nearby ash tree had his shoulders hunching as if waiting for the worst.

He would feel silly for it, almost, if he weren’t so on edge.

In the time that he spent trapped, Thomas inspected everything he could see around him. He inspected the overgrown weeds that he lay in, flattened by his body, nudged gently with his nose at her faint scent on the back of the gravestone. His eyes found her footsteps in the mud again, watching the way her she seemed to loop around the grave more than once, miraculously avoiding the trap each time.

He scowled. How could he have been so careless?

He thought of his mother, of how worried she must be and how much more worried she would be if she knew his current predicament.

He grimaced. After this she would be much more hesitant to let him roam free on nights of the full moon. He didn’t want to go back to his days of being a teenager, chained in the basement on nights like this for both his family’s protection and their peace of mind.

It was around midnight, he judged, when he caught the familiar scent.

As she came through the trees, Thomas for a moment had no idea what he was seeing.

Hazel was a strange sight in her white nightgown, ethereal almost, barefoot with nothing on her arms and nearly indecent in the bright moonlight. In one hand she held a lantern and in the other what appeared to be a large piece of cloth, rolled tight. She approached slowly, not quite cautious like she was afraid, but more considerate, as if she was aware of how on edge Thomas was and was unwilling to stress him further.

“Hello, Tommy,” she said, her accent heavier somehow. She dropped down into the grass beside of him, edging forward on knees trapped by her nightgown. After a moment she scowled, frustrated, pulling the garment from beneath her knees and giving Thomas a flash of her soft thighs that had him looking away, embarrassed.

The woman reached forward slowly, as if asking permission, before placing her hand lightly against his shoulder. “My, Thomas, how you’ve grown,” she crooned, a strange and familiar smile pulling at her lips that he couldn’t quite place. “I always told Miss Luda Mae that you’d grow as tall and strong as an oak.”

With great effort, Thomas shied away from her touch.

This was not Hazel.

It looked like Hazel and smelled like Hazel, but this very clearly was not Hazel. Something was off in her accent, her tone, her demeanor...even the way that she held herself was wrong.

“No, no, shhh sweetheart, you’re fine,” Not-Hazel soothed, accent strong but becoming more familiar as she reached out again to brush a tangle from his fur with steady fingers. “I’m not her but I’m here to help. You ready to head home now?”

At his slow nod, she leaned forward again, tucking the sheet under her arm before prying apart the trap with her bare hands. Her fingers began to bleed, bright and coppery in the moonlight, but she did not seem to notice. “It’s iron, you know, the trap. Your kind are weak to it. It’s why you couldn’t get out,” she said, casual as if she were talking about the weather instead of a device he had been vulnerable in for a day and most of a night.

Thomas pulled his leg free with a low whine, both eyes closed against the pain as he took a moment to compose himself. He turned then, to survey the damage but was only able to make out so much in the flickering lantern light.

“Sorry, dear,” the woman said, brushing her fingers gently along his spine. “Shoulda have been out of that trap ages ago but she’s a stubborn one.”

He wondered suddenly how she had been able to recognize the massive wolf was him, how she had found him in the first place, who she had meant when she had said ‘she’s a stubborn one?’

Thomas had many questions.

As the woman turned her back, he took that as his cue.

The transformation from human to wolf and vice versa was never a pleasant one. It was popping bones and skin stretched too far and too tight until it tore and bled. 

The woman continued look away from him through the entirety of his transformation, polite almost, humming to herself an old familiar song that he struggled to recognize through the pain. Wordlessly, she passed him the bundle of cloth.

Thomas was unselfconscious when it came to his body. He wrapped the sheet around himself, inhaling deeply at Hazel’s scent all the while. The sheet must have come from her bed with how deeply it smelled of her, he realized, the large piece of cloth completely lacking in any kind of chemical smell that would indicate a recent washing. He fiddled with the sheet, tugging it around the lower half of his face this way and that way uncomfortably.

“Oh,” Not-Hazel said. “Not quite good for a mask, huh?”

Slowly, Thomas shook his head.

She bent her knees then, bringing still-bleeding hands to the ruffled hem of her nightgown. With dexterous fingers, she tore along the seam, removing the entire bottom edge of the garment with a loud ripping sound.

Thomas averted his eyes as she passed him the cloth, the hem of her nightgown now short enough that he could make out a dark birthmark on her mid thigh. As he wrapped the piece of cloth around the lower half of his face, he was met with her smell again, heavy and just under his nose as it seemed to surround him. He closed his eyes, letting her scent envelope him before the soft, impatient clearing of a throat pulled him back into the real world.

As he opened his eyes, the woman gave him a knowing smile, sly, it’s meaning obvious.

“Sweet on her, are ya, Tommy?”

Thomas glanced away quickly, embarrassed.

The woman laughed, a noise that sounded different than Hazel’s own. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” she said after a moment, winking. “What’s meant to happen will come in it’s own time.”

 

* * *

 

Luda Mae was still awake when the pair arrived at The Hewitt residence, something that caught Thomas very much by surprise. He was exhausted at this point, thirsty and spattered with blood and cemetery dirt, wanting nothing more than to crawl into his own bed and sleep. He should have known that his return home would not be a quiet ordeal.

“Oh my goodness, Thomas!”

He was patient as Luda Mae closed in, throwing her arms around his frame, patient as she turned, hollering up the stairs for Hoyt.

“Oh dear, thank you so much for bringing my boy home!” She said, taking her arms from around Thomas and throwing them instead around the younger woman.

“Sure thing, Miss Luda Mae, weren’t nothin’ at all.”

The older woman turned to her then, a flash of something familiar in her eyes as she looked her over. “Where on earth did you find him?”

“You remember the old cemetery, don’t you? Pulled him out of a trap near Grandma Fern’s grave.” Her eyes wandered to the gory wound at his ankle, pleased when Luda Mae’s own eyes followed hers. She watched as the older woman clapped a hand over her mouth, offered her an arm as Luda Mae lowered herself carefully to the floor to inspect the wound thoroughly. “Wouldn’t worry too much about him catching something on account of his immune system. Might outta just go ahead and stitch him up, Luda.”

The woman caught sight of her hands then, bloody still as they hung at her sides. “Oh dear, are you alright?”

“Oh, I’m just fine, Miss Luda Mae. Won’t feel a thing come mornin’, rest assured.”

His mother regarded her strangely before turning her back, the younger woman immediately lifting a finger to her lips and flashing Thomas a quick wink.

 

* * *

 

After such an eventful outing, Thomas was frustrated to find that he still could not relax. He huffed in irritation as his thoughts raced, newly stitched ankle giving off a regular throb of pain that kept his mind from wandering too far, tethering him to the waking world like an animal.

It had taken him hours to get this far, from the front door to the comfort of his own bed. His mother had been relentless, so worked up that at first he wasn’t sure she’d let him go at all.

The woman had thought nothing of him crawling into bed with the sheet he was wrapped in when Not-Hazel had walked him through the door. The makeshift mask, of course, would stay also, Thomas depositing the strip of cloth carefully under his pillow the moment he had shut the door.

He hugged the sheet close to his body, his tossing and turning only wrapping it further around himself. He rested his bare face against the soft cloth, inhaling deeply at their mingling scents, his eyes finally slipping closed against the insistent light of the sun rising outside.

As he laid there twisted in the sheet she had brought him, he found that he couldn’t stop thinking about Hazel.

What was going on with her? What was she even doing out in the woods that late at night?

He mulled the questions over until sleep finally claimed him, his exhaustion finally winning out over the throbbing pain at his ankle.

That night he dreamed of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't forgotten about this story and I'm sorry this chapter took so long!
> 
> It's just that a lot happened between this chapter and the last. Hozier's new album dropped and I've been fighting pneumonia in both lungs for a couple of weeks...big yikes.
> 
> Anyway, I'm not in love with this chapter but sometimes you just gotta post, you know?


	6. Sweet Caroline

Hazel awoke much in the same way she was becoming used to, with mud on her feet and a roll of her eyes. 

There was a knock at the door, soft but insistent, and with much effort,  Hazel found herself staggering out of bed. Her nightgown was torn at the thigh and her bed sheet was missing all together, both things she found strange but still overall not the strangest when it came to her sleepwalking adventures.

“Oh, dear, good morning, I hope I didn’t wake you,” came Luda Mae’s cheerful voice, cutting through her tired haze as she blinked bleary-eyed at the bright Texan morning.

“No, no, of course not,” she lied easily. She wondered what time it was.

“I just, I’m so grateful for you bringing my boy home last night that I couldn’t wait any longer to drop by,” the woman said, holding out a large basket and giving it a small shake as if instructing her to take it. “I was just so happy he was home that I started baking this morning and I just couldn’t stop.”

Hazel took the basket with a blink, lifting one corner to reveal half a dozen or so baked goods. She eyed the fresh baked bread and the cookies with a hungry gaze before setting the corner of the blanket back down and smiling gently at the older woman. “Oh, ma’am, you didn’t have to do all this.”

“Nonsense,” came the reply. “You did a great thing for our family and we’re forever grateful.” Here the woman paused, as if debating something with herself. “But I just have to say, you said some strange things last night, dear,” she said after a moment.

“Oh?” She asked, grimacing internally. “Did I?”

“Well, to be honest, you sounded exactly like your grandmother.”

At this, Hazel was puzzled. “My grandmother?”

Luda Mae crinkled her nose, almost as if she hadn’t been prepared to elaborate further. “Ain’t easy to explain. Just the way you handled yourself and the way you spoke. Was like being in a memory.”

“Huh.”

The pair regarded each other for a moment before the older woman turned. “Well, I’ve got to go check on Tommy. He’s a strong boy and his ankle is healing faster then you’d believe but you know how mothers worry.”

“Of course,” Hazel said in return, smiling gently as Luda Mae completed her turn, making her way to the passenger side of the patrol car that sat in the driveway. Hazel smiled and lifted one hand to the sheriff in greeting before the pair was gone, pulling out of her dusty driveway and ambling down the road.

As she pulled the basket of baked goods to her chest and closed the door carefully, she was forced to face the fact that she had no idea what Luda Mae was talking about.

She remembered that Thomas was missing of course, remembered Luda Mae telling her that it wasn’t uncommon for him to be gone for a few days at a time. She didn’t, however, have any memory of bringing the man home and certainly had no memory of talking with Luda Mae.

Hazel also didn’t remember much about her grandmother.

She remembered being the youngest and being coddled, remembered vaguely the smell of the bitter tea the woman always seemed to be brewing. She had not seen her grandmother in many years prior to her passing, her mother had made sure of that.

If somehow her grandmother was the root of her sleepwalking, there had to be a hint, a clue, something.

 

* * *

 

It was around noon that she had an idea.

Hazel found the old photo albums easily enough, stacked in the top of a closet in one of the back bedrooms. She brought the small stack to the living room, dropping them on the coffee table with a dusty thud.

As she picked up the first album, she discovered that it’s pages were yellowed with age, it’s edges curling slightly. She found herself grateful that neither affliction had any effect on the photos that still lined the album in neat rows.

She paused in her page flipping, cocking her head at the photo beneath her fingertips. The picture was old, though not as old as many pictures in the album, it’s bright yellow pallet catching her attention immediately.

Her smile was as bright as the field of sunflowers behind her, legs crossed as she sat in the dirt. Her overalls were dirty, patched, stained with what looked to be blueberries, her brown hair shorter than she had worn it in a very long time. To her left was a medium sized dog, the animal not quite looking at the camera, shy almost as she encircled it in her arms.

_ Hazel and Tommy _ , the back of the photo read, the familiar looping scrawl enough to spur her into action. She rose from her well-stuffed couch quickly, moving to her study to find the sticky note that had been plaguing her as much as the writing on her mirror.

As she brought the sticky note closer to the page, her heart caught in her throat. The old-timey handwriting was an exact match.

“Huh,” she said aloud, heart hammering in her chest as she flipped the picture back over to study the front further.

Another thing she found weird was the presence of the dog in the photo. Hazel remembered asking about a dog a few years before her mother’s health had declined, the memories faint but occasionally bubbling to the surface.

Her mother had brushed the questions away easily. “You never had a dog growing up, Hazel. Your father was allergic.”

“But I remember-“

“Hush now,” her mother had said, stern enough to make her shut her mouth. “You don’t know what you remember.”

The next picture was of her and the same dark-furred dog. Again, she was beaming, smile wide as she held out a rabbit in front of her by its back legs. It dripped with gore, messy, a darkness creeping up her hand where the blood had smeared.

_ Tommy’s catch _ , the photo read.

Her eye caught something strange then, the poking of lined paper from behind the picture as it bulged slightly from its spot on the page. She moved the picture carefully, picking at the peeling page where the the photo had rested, tugging gently at the strange lined paper that seemed so out of place in the old book. She unfolded the paper carefully, turning it so it rested upright in her hands.

_ Dear diary _ , the page read, it’s ink smudged and edges crumpled.  _ Today Tommy caught me a rabbit! He won’t say why because he isn’t much for talking but I think it was supposed to be a gift. _

She thought back to the animals that had showed up on her front porch, how most had been splattered with gore as if hunted by something big.

It was then that the pieces with Tommy started to fall into place.

 

* * *

 

She paced to the phone, flipping through her small directory of numbers and dialing the one she had written down prior. She twirled the long cord around her index finger as she paced, waiting patiently for someone to pick up.

_“Hello?”_ Came the gruff reply after a moment.

“Hi, sorry,” she said, apologetic suddenly though she had no reason to be. “I was wondering if I could talk to Thomas?”

_“You that neighbor girl?”_

She blinked, pausing in her cord twirling for only a moment before resuming. “Oh uh, yep, I guess that’s me.”

_“Just a second, darlin’,”_ the man said, voice shifting into something just a little friendlier as he set the phone down with an audible click. _“Thomas!”_ She could hear him yell, so sudden and still so close to the receiver that she nearly jumped. _“Phone!”_

There was a shuffling on the other end as the man picked up, a huffy grunt as he adjusted the phone on his large shoulder.

“Hey, big guy!” She chirped, cheerful and entirely undeterred by the man’s heavy breathing. She imagined him easily, large shoulders hunched over the small phone barely a mile away, the receiver cradled in one hand. “Sorry if you were busy.”

Unsurprisingly, the man was silent.

“I just had a quick question for you, let’s say one tap for no and two taps for yes, how ‘bout it?”

There was a long pause as Thomas seemed to process the system. Slowly, he gave two taps against the receiver.

She beamed, thrilled as she continued to twirl the twisted phone cord around one finger. “That’s great! Um, anyway, I was wondering if you’d be interested in coming to dinner later?”

As the silence stretched on, she could feel her anxiety building. “I mean I’m no chef by any means but I make a pretty mean spaghetti,” she stammered, face heating in embarrassment. “Unless you don’t like spaghetti? We could always just order a pizza or something? Or if you’re busy, that’s fine, too. I realize it’s a little last minute-“

_ Tap tap,  _ came the reply finally.

She gave a quick sigh of relief, all the air rushing from her lungs at once.

“Great!” She said, fully aware of how eager she sounded but completely unable to do anything about it in her excitement. “Dinner will be ready around 6-ish. I’ll see you then!”

As she hung up the call, she took a deep breath, bending at the waist and pressing her forehead to the cool, wooden surface of the table where her phone sat.

How nerve wracking.

 

* * *

 

_ “You’re cooking?” _

She bent at the waist, leaning elbows on the table where the phone sat as she talked to her friend. She was casual in her movements, finding that this conversation was much more relaxing than the one she had had prior. “Yeah?” She asked innocently. “What’s the big deal?”

_ “Hazel, you live out of the microwave, don’t play dumb with me.” _

She rolled her eyes. “I do not live out of the microwave.”

_ "So what’s he like? Tall, strong, bigger than most?”  _ The woman paused, laughing. _ “He’s gotta be something special if you’re breaking out the spaghetti.” _

She could feel as heat rushed to her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

_ “A real strong, silent type?” _

“Okay, stop, I get your point,” she scowled, lifting her elbows from the table and standing straight.

_ “Is he rootin’? Tootin’? Hazel, please tell me he’s shootin’.” _

“He’s not a cowboy.”

_ “Not a cowboy, no,” _ Jude conceded, a laugh bubbling up.  _ “Just a good ole country boy.” _

“Jude.”

_ “Can I get a yeehaw?” _

“No, you cannot get a yeehaw,” she said, cheeks red. “Listen, I’ll talk to you later.”

_ “Sure,”  _ came the laugh from the other end.  _ “Let me know how your date goes.” _

As she returned the phone to its cradle and made her way into the kitchen, she found that Jude’s words still rattled around in her head.

So she had a type. What about it?

She leaned against the counter, eyes finding the hands on the clock above her head and following them with roving eyes.

Two hours to go.

 

* * *

 

It was around six o’clock that Thomas showed up on her front porch, alerting his arrival with two loud knocks on the frame of her door.

She rushed from the kitchen to the front of the house, wiping her wet hands on her dress as she went, throwing the door open.

He had showered recently, she could tell, if his damp but unbrushed hair was anything to go by. She found herself wanting to run her fingers through it, detangling it so it would dry soft and fluffy.

The man was devoid of his butcher’s apron also, his slacks and button up clean with his sleeves rolled up to reveal powerful forearms. As she stepped aside to let him in, she caught a whiff of his soap, masculine and fresh, the smell lingering in the air as he passed.

She moved back towards the kitchen quickly, spooning the food onto the plates and setting them down on the kitchen counter. The bouquet of lilies she purchased earlier in town made for a nice centerpiece, just as the florist told her it would, the pink and white flowers just this side of overbearing on the small, nearby table.

Thomas stood awkwardly nearby for a moment as if unsure what to do, the sight of the massive man almost comical beside the smaller table.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, coughing quietly to cover a laugh. “Feel free to have a seat, I’m almost finished in the kitchen.”

Thomas gave a small nod, taking his seat slowly but continuing to watch her with his dark and intense eyes, the feeling almost tangible against her back as she pulled the garlic bread out of the oven.

She brought the plates over then, setting one in front of the large man and the other across from him, finally settling down in her own chair with one ankle tucked under her knee.

With the food plated and the kitchen straightened halfway to the point of decency, they began to eat, twirling the sauced pasta around their forks and bringing it to their mouths.

She wondered about the mask, if it took more coordination to eat with it on, but of course said nothing about it, merely shifting her eyes with her heart thumping in her chest any time his eyes found hers.

They were about halfway through their dinner, a calm and quiet thing, when hazel decided it was time to get to the bottom of things.

“I found a picture of us earlier, from when we were kids,” she said, twirling her spaghetti around the prongs of her fork.

Thomas predictably said nothing in return, merely reaching forward with one large hand and taking the small photograph from her when she offered it.

She watched his expression carefully as he studied the old photo, knowing that this whole ordeal could either go one of two ways. Either he would have no idea what she was talking about -something she was entirely prepared for- or he would know her meaning exactly.

As the man gripped the picture, she became increasingly aware of just how much the second option was within reach.

“You’ve always been a little different, haven’t you, Thomas?”

At his silent stare, she continued, trying very hard to maintain the atmosphere of the dinner so it continued to feel like a casual meal instead of an interrogation session.

“Were you the one that left the animals on my porch?” She asked, leaning forward in her chair. She feigned casualness, lifting her fork to her mouth but not quite completing the motion of eating.

The man seemed to tense, jaw clenched as he gave a small nod.

“Ah,” she said.

There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch on, both people picking idly at the spaghetti on their plates. Finally she cleared her throat, speaking again.

“Luda Mae dropped by earlier, you know,” she said idly, her eyes finding a place on the old table cloth and focusing on it as she spoke. “She says that I was the one that brought you home but I don’t have any memory of it.” There was a pause as she glanced away from the tablecloth, her fingers finding the material and picking at it nervously. “Was I strange last night?”

Slowly, the man nodded.

She pursed her lips, teeth finding the inside of her cheek. Of course she had been strange, why had she even asked?

She returned to her spaghetti then, twirling the noodles idly around her fork but making no effort to bring the food to her mouth. “I didn’t see, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she said quietly after a moment of careful consideration.

At this, Thomas tilted his head.

“You know, the um, the other you,” she fumbled indelicately. “I didn’t see. Or if I did see, I don’t remember.”

Tommy made a small noise then, a huff of laughter maybe as he visibly relaxed, his shoulders lowering from their hunched position.

She wondered if she was missing something. “Something funny?”

Beyond the mask, she could barely make out a smile. He nodded slightly but predictably said nothing.

With some hesitation, she reached out, taking his hand gently in her own. “Listen, Tommy” she said, glancing away, embarrassed almost, “I just want you to know that whoever or whatever you are is alright with me.”

Thomas glanced down at where their hands were joined, as if he hadn’t been expecting the action at all. He brushed one calloused thumb over knuckles, the movement causing both of them to turn their heads away, embarrassed.

It was then that she realized that her admiration for the man was perhaps a little more than just that, Jude’s not so subtle accusations ringing in her ears.

Thomas released her hand then, making a motion in the air that took her a moment to decipher.

“Oh!” She said after a moment, rising from her seat. “Pen?”

As Thomas nodded, she made her way to the table that held her phone, grabbing the ink pen that rested on it quickly and moving back towards the man. She passed it to him carefully, their fingers brushing as she settled herself back into her seat. As he reached for a napkin from the center of the table, she watched his every movement, curious.

_ Do you want to see? _ The man scrawled, his napkin flimsy and tearing multiple times under the pen as he wrote, heavy handed.

She could feel her heart hammering in her chest. “Would that...would that be okay?”

He nodded slowly, rising from his seat and gesturing with one hand for her to do the same. She followed him past the living room and out onto the front porch, quiet as though the situation had yet to sink in.

Here he reached for her, covering her eyes easily with one hand and turning her gently with the other to face the front door. She heard as the man descended the steps, the boards creaking under his weight before settling again as he reached the bottom.

His clothes came off slowly after that, first his button up shirt then his boots, socks, pants and finally after a moment of hesitation, his mask, all of which he stacked on the porch railing to her right. She slid her eyes sideways, cheeks heating slightly as she took in the haphazard pile of clothes.

Still she did not turn.

She wondered what the process would be like, if she would even know when it was done as she faced away from the man.

There was a grunt behind her, sudden and strained followed by a terrible cracking sound that sent a shiver down her spine.

As she listened to the chorus of popping bones and heavy panting behind her, she brought one hand up, covering her mouth. She felt bad suddenly, allowing her curiosity to get the better of her even if Thomas did offer to go through what was clearly such a painful process to sate it.

After a few moments of silence, the pained panting finally having died down, she was met with a strange sensation, a small nudge at the center of her back.

She turned slowly, her eyes widening at the sight of the bright, golden eyes that watched her from just beyond the bottom step.

He was massive, easily bigger than the wolves she had seen at the zoo when she was a little girl. His fur was dark, his eyes bright and shining as he eyed her from his position near the steps.

“Thomas?” She asked slowly.

The large wolf stepped forward slowly, seeming to give a pleased rumble when she made no effort to retreat from him.

“Wow,” she said, breathless almost as he stepped more into the light. She moved forward slowly but with confidence, entirely without fear as she lowered herself to sit on the top step. She pressed her knees together so as to remain decent in her dress, fingers fidgeting as they longed to touch, to reach.

The wolf’s eyes never left her.

“Tommy,” she said again, softer than before as she extended a single hand.

There was a tense moment of hesitation as she considered pulling her hand back. How rude she must seem, trying to pet a grown man like he was some kind of animal.

Slowly the wolf pressed his face into her hand, closing his eyes in what she interpreted as a sign of trust.

His muzzle was scarred, she noticed, patchy in some places with missing bits of fur, but as her fingers danced across it without any reaction, she discovered it must not have been all that sensitive.

Without thinking, she brought her hand up from below his jaw, fingers carefully encircling one ear and scratching gently with her nails. “Is this okay?”

Again, the wolf gave a small, pleased rumble, his eyes remaining closed as he leaned further into her touch.

“I’m so thankful you came to dinner tonight,” she said softly, fingers migrating, scratching idly now at the back of the wolf’s neck. “I mean it might sound strange, all things considered, but this is the closest I’ve had to normal in weeks.”

The wolf stepped forward to give her better access, resting it’s snout on her knees as he looked up at her with it’s bright eyes.

“It’s just…” she lifted one hand from the wolf’s fur to scratch distractedly at the back of her own neck. “It’s just that nothing feels real right now, Tommy. Like my life is one big puzzle and I’m struggling to put it together.”

She laughed, sudden and maybe a little too sharp as she brought both hands back to scratch at the wolf’s neck. “And my friend thinks I’m nuts, and hey, you know, maybe I am. Maybe I’m not being haunted by my grandmother at all and everything that’s happening is just stress from moving or looming deadlines.”

She had a sudden urge then, to lean forward, to encircle the wolf in her arms and press her face against its furred neck like in the picture she had found in the scrap book earlier.

From inside the house, the phone began to ring, the noise sudden and loud enough that she felt the wolf jump under her hands.

Hazel pulled back, suddenly embarrassed as if a spell had been broken. “I’ve uh, I’ve gotta get that…” she said slowly, waiting patiently as the wolf took a step back, his golden eyes never leaving her.

She rose from the top step slowly, turning and heading inside. The phone was too loud in the otherwise silent house, it’s ringing almost jarring. She took a deep breath, lifting the phone from its cradle. “Hello?”

_ “Hello, dear,” _ came the chipper voice of Luda Mae.  _ “I hope I’m not calling too late.” _

“Of course not, ma’am,” she replied, watching the front door as Thomas made his way up the steps, his wolf form all but a memory now as he buttoned his pants. “What can I do for you?”

_ “Well truth be told, I was hoping you wouldn’t mind sending Tommy on his way back home,” _ the woman said. There was a strange noise in the background, like muffled cursing that Hazel strained to hear. _ “A fresh shipment of meat just came in and we need our butcher.” _

Her eyes darted to the clock on reflex.

“Sure, no problem! I’ll let him know.”

_ “You’re an angel, dear, thank you so much.” _

As she lowered the phone back into it’s cradle, she turned back to Thomas, surprised when she found the man suddenly tense.

“Did you catch any of that?”

Thomas huffed as he buckled his belt, gesturing with one hand towards the front door.

It was quiet for a moment as Thomas continued to get dressed, Hazel’s eyes finding a lamp across the room as she struggled to keep her eyes off the man in front of her.

“Listen, I’m uh, really sorry for getting weird on you,” she said slowly, her eyes still averted as Thomas pulled his shirt over his shoulders and began to button it. “Things have just been so strange lately, I just thought-“

Thomas reached out then, placing one large hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently.

_ It’s okay _ , the gesture said.

She smiled softly at that, embarrassed almost. “Thanks, Tommy.”

As the man made his way to the front door, she found herself speaking again. “Would you like a ride home?”

With less hesitation than she had seen from the man yet, he shook his head no.

“Right, right, sure,” she said, moving to the table by the door and pulling out a large, heavy flashlight. “Here,” she said, holding it out to him. “For the walk home.”

Thomas nodded slowly, taking the flashlight from her hands with a gentleness that caused a small smile to spread across her face involuntarily.

“Listen, thanks again for coming. It was really nice just to, you know, hang out.”

Again, Thomas nodded.

She watched as the man descended the steps and began to make his way to the trail that would take him home. Her eyes followed him, straining in the dark as he made his way into the woods, flashlight in one hand and a bowl of leftovers in the other.

The scene was familiar almost, reminiscent of her first dinner with the Hewitts when Luda Mae had had Thomas walk her home.

As she caught sight of the flashlights beam, she found herself recalling the bright golden eyes of the wolf.

How refreshing it was to finally have something in her life make sense, regardless if said thing was a little...unexpected.

With a small smile tugging at her lips, she closed the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeedawgy what a long chapter


	7. We've Only Just Begun

_His hands were hungry in their exploration, firm and unyielding and strong, his calloused fingers dancing along the barely exposed flesh of her raised shirt as if they had been waiting for this moment for as long as she had been. His eyes flashed golden as he pressed in closer, crowding her against the back of the sofa with his large body, a low growl rising from his throat._

_She sighed under his touch, both hands reaching up to find the sides of his face and pull him in closer, eyes closed as she pressed her lips against the opening of his mask._

_He trailed his hands downward to her thighs, gripping one in each hand and lifting her as easily as if she weighed nothing. He set her on the back of the sofa, pressing himself between her spread knees as he reached up to cover her eyes with one large hand._

_She knew this game by now, knew that with his other hand he was fighting with his mask, fighting to give her better access to his mouth._

_He pressed closer against her still, insistently, their lips coming together with a fervor. She could feel the heat coming from his body as he reached behind her with his now free arm to drag her as close as possible. Even with the hand over her eyes, she was able to imagine every line on his face when he kissed her. She brought one hand to his hair, deepening the kiss, not wanting him to pull away from her. As the hand behind her back moved around her waist and made it’s way again to her thigh, she moaned against his lips, his large hand wandering lower…_

The phone ringing in the hallway was a jarring and unwelcome intrusion that sent her eyes opening immediately. She rose from her bed with a scowl, blankets tangling around her feet as she made her way to the phone.

“Hello?” She grumbled, her eyes darting to the clock on the wall, it’s hands barely visible in the low light.

“You missed your deadline.”

“Jesus, Len, it’s three in the morning. I thought someone was dead.”

“Just your career if you keep this up.”

She groaned tiredly, rolling her shoulders and popping her joints. “Okay, okay, I get your point. I’ll get on it.”

“You know, Hazel, I’ve been thinking a lot about you.”

“Oh?” She asked, suddenly amused.

“I’ve got it in my head that it would be a good idea for me to drop in for a few days, just to give you a little kick in the ass.”

“You? Come all the way out here?” She laughed at the thought, her amusement contagious enough to have the other man chuckling in response.

“Hey, who knows,” the man said. “Maybe I’ll meet a cowboy of my own.”

“Alright, alright, I guess it couldn’t hurt. Let me just...I don’t know, check my calendar and I’ll call you back tomorrow.”

“I’ll be waiting on that call, Little Missy,” the man said, voice slipping into something deeper and twangier, a playful mimicry of her genre of choice that had her laughing.

 

* * *

 

The next morning she found herself in her office, coffee in hand as she sat down to flip through her calendar.

Her eyes found the days marked by bouts of sleep walking and she pursed her lips. Three days in a row seemed to be the common theme but still she found herself tilting her head in confusion. As she tapped her pen against her desk, she flipped between pages, eyeing the small boxes carefully.

It was then that she noticed something strange.

_Full moon_ , the small text read at the corner of one box, flanked on either side by another marked night of sleepwalking.

“Huh,” she said, curious as she flipped to the previous month.

Again, she was met with the same small symbol and text, indicating that for both months, her sleepwalking had occurred on the days surrounding the full moon.

She flipped back to the current month, eyes scanning the page until they found the small text, two weeks out.

She could work around that easily, she was confident. If anything, she’d just stay up for those three days and then hope that nothing happened on the fourth.

 

* * *

 

The next week was a flurry of too-sweet coffee and typing. Page after page she typed, shoving everything else to the back of her mind.

Twice Luda Mae had stopped by with food, as if somehow being able to sense that she wasn’t caring for herself as she should be.

All the while, she thought of Thomas, of his calloused hands and dark eyes. Many times she found herself passing by the phone and considered picking it up to call him, and many times still she found herself chickening out.

Hazel had not dealt with a romance of her own in a very long time. It wasn’t that she couldn’t find a partner or that people weren’t interested, no, Hazel had enough of a mind to know that she wasn’t unattractive. She told herself that romance would interfere with her job, that having another person around might hinder her creative flow, that if she got all the romance down on paper, she wouldn’t need it in real life.

Then along came Thomas. First a childhood friend and then maybe something more. She wasn’t sure when it had happened; sometime between Jude’s playful teasing and the night of the dinner, she felt that things had shifted in the span of hours.

What could she possibly say to the man? Hey, I like you a lot as a person and it doesn’t bother me that you can turn into a giant wolf. Would you be interested in going on a date sometime?

She scoffed at the idea.

Besides, she was sure that the man had better things to do. Do, of course, in the sense that she was sure he was a very busy man himself.

 

* * *

 

Her first night of wakefulness was all jitters, coffee and sweets and stomach aches alongside a successful typing session that spanned hours. She didn’t bother to change into something more comfortable, didn’t want to risk falling asleep as the full moon’s bright light shone through her office window. She found herself yawning often, but found the tiredness easy enough to shake away, something that she was grateful for as the completed pages of her novel stacked up on the right side of her desk.

The character in her book was a down-on-her-luck city girl that had moved to a small town for a fresh start after a bad break up.

In the span of only a few hours, she was able to complete multiple chapters; the main character moved into her new home, met her handsome rodeo star after a night out with an old friend, met the local legend _again_ after brushing fingers over avocados at the supermarket...but oh no! Her ex is back and he’s seen the error in his ways! And what’s that he’s got in his pocket? A shiny engagement ring!

The second night of her wakefulness was perhaps even more productive than the first. Again she filled up on coffee and junk food and allowed her fingers to fly across the keys of her typewriter.

The sun set, the moon rose, the moon set, and the sun rose, all while she sat at her desk.

Occasionally throughout the night, she would stand, pacing with a sudden energy that she couldn’t explain, an energy so completely unlike the result of junk food and coffee that it worried her.

If she fell asleep now, would the sleepwalking begin? Could it _only_ occur during the full moon?

When she finally decided to give Thomas a call, it was long after the sun had risen.

“It won’t be weird,” she promised herself. “ _You_ won’t be weird.”

She didn’t want to do it, was originally confident in her ability to stay up for three straight days, perhaps for the rest of her life if need be. But she had begun to doze, not too long ago, drooling nearly as she propped her chin on her hand on the arm of the sofa.

“Listen,” she said, tangling the long phone cord around her fist and blinking slowly. “I know it’s short notice but would you be interested in coming over tonight?”

At the silence, more than predictable at this point, she continued, emboldened by her exhaustion. “I just feel like you and your family are my only friends in this neck of the woods and…”

And what? I’m possibly going to be sleep walking again tonight and I need someone to make sure I don’t step off a roof? How strange would it be to reiterate her sleep walking habits? How strange would it be trying to explain to the man that it seemingly only happened when the moon was full? And wouldn’t that be wrong? To take advantage of a friend? A lifetime of dumb excuses flew past her faster than she could think to reach out and grab.

“...and I could really use a friend,” she finished lamely.

When the gentle _tap tap_ came from the other end of the phone, she gave a small sigh of relief. “Thanks, Thomas.”

 

* * *

 

Thomas had not heard from Hazel since he had showed his true self at dinner.

He had spent hours in the basement, pacing endlessly as he worked between tasks. Meat rolled in as it always did and he did his job the way he always did, without question or hesitation.

He wondered if he had made a mistake by showing her and as days passed, it continued to eat away at him.

How could he have been so stupid?

Mama had always told him to be cautious, to never let anyone see that wasn’t family.

_Don’t shift around others,_ she’d say, _don’t shift around others or in the house or anytime but the full moon._

He and Hazel had grown a lot since kids, both changing drastically as time ticked by. She had seen his other form before, sure, many times as kids and once in the woods the night she sleepwalked.

Only, she didn’t really see him that night, did she?

When the phone rang from above him, he glanced up at the stairs hopefully. It wasn’t often that they got phone calls.

When he heard Monty call for him, he dropped what he was doing immediately, rubbing messy hands on his apron. He climbed the stairs two at a time, throwing open the sliding basement door with so much excitement that it made Monty jump in his chair, small dog skittering off his lap with a startled yip.

He picked up the phone, hoping that the sudden rush of noise would alert her to his presence.

Sure enough, it was only scant seconds before she began speaking. She sounded harried, exhausted as she struggled with what to say and he found himself concerned. There was something she wasn’t telling him, he knew, but when she invited him over a second time, he felt himself sag in relief as his body let go of tension he didn’t know he’d been holding.

He arrived later that night, anxious as she opened the door and invited him in.

Again, he found himself overwhelmed by the smell of her, in the air and on the furniture and on the jacket that hung beside the door as he entered.

There was pizza on the table, something he was very unimpressed with at first. He had had pizza once, some years ago as a child but could recall nothing about the taste.

She handed him a plate of food and sat back on the sofa with her own, her legs tucked under her as she cut into the pizza with a fork. As he chewed thoughtfully at his own piece, he came to a conclusion.

Pizza, he decided, was not a bad experience. Odd and completely unlike anything he was used to but not bad.

“You like it?” She asked after a beat of silence. “I know it’s probably not what you’re used to.” As he nodded slowly, she continued, a small grin creeping across her face. “I always have to bribe the pizza delivery person to get them to come all the way out here.”

As the pair settled in just after dinner, Thomas found out exactly what he was dealing with. She was more fidgety than when he arrived, perhaps more so now that she had nothing to do with her hands. After a rather impolite once-over, he noted that her appearance seemed to match what he had heard on the phone as she drank her coffee; her hair was out of place, the dark circles under her eyes stark against her otherwise unmarred skin. Her energy was off as well, a tangible thing thrumming with an undercurrent of something strange.

She was chatty, as she always was, the trait made more prominent perhaps by the fact that she was also exhausted and had had her fill of caffeine. He felt his own energy changing as the moon rose, began absentmindedly drumming his fingers against the side of his own glass of water as she chattered on beside of him.

His eyes darted to the kitchen, to her trash can that seemed to overflow with neglect, pizza boxes leaning against the wall. He wondered when she had last ate real food, not something delivered and not something microwaved.

He wanted to reach over and pluck the coffee from her hands.

“Hey, Tommy...?”

He glanced from the television questioningly, confused to see her looking oddly serious, her eyes never leaving the screen.

“I know this isn’t what you signed up for...but don’t let me fall asleep, okay?”

Unsure of the situation but eager to help, Thomas gave a firm nod, the resulting smile from her making it all worth it.

The mood shift was odd but didn’t last, bouncing back immediately and leaving the man with a strange feeling in his gut.

What on earth was going on?

But with Hazel being Hazel, the silence that followed didn’t last very long. “Is it always the full moon when you...you know?” The woman asked slowly, prompting him to give a slow nod in response. She took a moment to consider this, fingers drumming lightly against the side of her coffee mug. She paused, lips pursed as she stared down into the dark liquid. “I didn’t know, I’m sorry. This must be a terrible inconvenience for you.”

Immediately Thomas gave a firm shake of his head.

He would get all of his hunting done on the last night of the full moon cycle.

Thomas was nothing if not confident in his abilities as a hunter.

“Does it help?” Hazel asked him slowly. “When you shift, I mean. Will it calm your nerves.” She paused before continuing, setting her coffee mug on the table with barely contained energy. “If you wanted to shift, I wouldn’t mind.”

She seemed almost excited at the prospect of him shifting, an unusual feeling that was entirely foreign to him.

He cocked his head at her, narrowing his eyes slightly. ‘ _Are you sure?’_ It seemed to ask.

She gave a quick nod, reaching out to brush their fingers together in a way she hoped was reassuring.

Thomas curled his large fingers around her own in return, a fluttering feeling in his chest as he gave a quick squeeze. He then stood from the sofa, letting go of her hand slowly and making for the front door.

“Where are you going?” She asked, puzzled almost.

He turned slowly at her confusion.

“Why outside?”

Thomas said nothing, cocking his head slightly at what was probably her twentieth question of the night.

“You did it after dinner that night, too, before you shifted.”

Thomas wished he had the words to say. He wished that there was a way to communicate that he hadn’t shifted inside of a house -or around another person, for that matter- in a very long time, that his mama had never allowed it.

“Just more of an outside thing?” She guessed, earning her a small nod.

As he walked outside and began the tedious process of undressing, he felt the wolf pawing at him from within, demanding to be let out.

The transformation was always painful, of course, dulled only slightly by years and years of shifting. His bones popped, his skin tore, he bled; it was an ugly, messy experience and another reason he had always been told to keep it outside. He grunted as his front teeth fell out, as his fangs grew in, as the bones in his face shifted and elongated as his snout began to form. His hands became paws, his fingers claws that dug into the dirt with his weight, his back split and became fur, dark and thick. He dropped to his knees, hunching his shoulders and curling in on himself as he felt more bones shift into their places.

And then as quickly as it had begun, it was over, leaving only a throbbing ache where before there had been a raging pain.

She welcomed him inside with open arms, beckoning him onto the furniture with a wave, another thing he was unused to. He hesitated at first, for just a moment, before relenting, climbing onto the couch with as much grace as he could muster.

He made himself comfortable quickly, something that seemed to please her as a smile crept across her face. When Thomas stretched, adjusting his position and moving closer to set his snout on her knee, she reached over on reflex to tiredly scratch behind his ears.

She was open with her affections, soft in a way that made his heart warm like a thousand fireflies. She trusted him enough to relax beside of him, a thought that floored him after what he had shown her, after she had found out what he truly was.

He was told many things as a child, that people wouldn’t understand, that they’d be afraid, that he should always hide the wolf part of him deep inside and never show anyone outside of family no matter what.

As he caught her eyes slipping shut, he nudged her again. Her eyes opened, sliding in his direction as she smiled tiredly. “Sorry I keep dozing on you, Tommy,” she said, lifting her hand again to rest on his head. “I guess I just find your presence really soothing.”

Thomas wanted nothing more than to be that for her, a soothing presence, wanted to ease the tremble of her fingers, to pull her under his chin and let her rest.

He gave a heavy sigh, lifting and lowering his shoulders on the exhale.

Thomas felt helpless.

They sat in silence for some time, the television on but the volume down as it played through an old movie.

As he lifted his golden eyes to her face, he saw that she was still clinging to wakefulness and pressed his head under her hand again. Maybe it was selfish to want the attention, to want her hands on him, but Thomas didn’t care. He had gone without this kind of contact since she’d left as a child, since they had been separated. He could only vaguely remember what it felt like to have another’s hands on him and he found himself longing for it now.

His family loved him, of course, but he had resigned himself to the fact that that just wasn’t the type of family they were. Close, sure, but not affectionate beyond the occasional hug or pat on the shoulder to tell him that he had done well.

But this was an entirely different feeling. This was affection for the sake of affection, her small hands buried in his fur as he angled his head towards her.

As she scratched, Thomas felt his eyelids begin to droop. It couldn’t hurt to close them for just a minute, could it?

When he opened them again, she was standing in front of the television with her back to him, silhouetted against the soft glow of the screen. Her hands were at her sides, fingers clenching and unclenching almost absentmindedly as she stared at the piece of technology.

He recalled her speaking earlier, somewhere between eating pizza and his shift as his eyes surveyed the room. ‘Don’t let me fall asleep, okay?’ she had said, more serious perhaps than he had ever seen her.

He rose slowly from his position on the couch, arching his back in a stretch that had the sofa groaning beneath him. How had she moved without waking him?

“Oh, you’re awake,” the woman said as she turned to him slowly. Her voice was strange and far away though she stood only feet from where he lay. “Would you like to come into the forest with us?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick shout out to all the people that have commented on this fic (a few of you more than once!!!) 
> 
> I'm a little shy when it comes to replying but I'm reading all of your comments and your kind words fuel me!


	8. Dancing In The Moonlight

Thomas snapped to full wakefulness immediately, hackles rising on reflex at the eeriness of the situation.

‘ _Us?_ ’ He wondered briefly. ‘ _Who was us_?’

She took a step forward then, swaying forward on her feet in a way that set Thomas’s teeth on edge. Her hands met the small coffee table with a heavy _thump_ as she steadied herself, shoulders hunched and eyes screwed shut as if in pain. He could see her fingers clenching against the dark polished wood, could barely make out the unsteadiness of her legs just beyond the edge of the table as she struggled to remain upright.

He was at her side only a moment later, pressing his furred body against her hip for support, giving a pleased rumble when her shaking fingers found their way into his thick coat.

He listened to her breathing for a moment, shallow breaths that made him uneasy.

_What was going on?_

“Sorry, Thomas dear,” she said softly. Her tone was strange but familiar, as if Thomas had heard it somewhere before, the heavy lilt of her accent acting as a pair of grasping hands that forced his memories to the surface. “It’s always a little rough at the beginning.”

_The beginning? Beginning of what?_

She straightened herself slowly, rising to her full height with some effort. She moved one hand from Thomas’s fur to her forehead, brushing idly at the beads of sweat that had gathered at her hairline. “There, now,” she said, her voice strained as she emptied her lungs of the deep breath she had been holding. She quirked one corner of her lips upwards in a way that suggested no joy, a visual cue that was not lost on Thomas. “Right as rain.”

He watched her curiously, his bright golden eyes fixed on her, unwavering. He recalled suddenly the way she had acted the night at the cemetery, how strange she had seemed and how everything about her had been different. Her posture was off, the woman standing a little taller than she usually did. The heavy accent was the most familiar of all, a direct throwback to the night in the woods, he was sure. Could this be the same situation? 

“I see those gears just a turnin’,” she said suddenly, smile evolving into something sly and a little more genuine. “I reckon you’ve realized on your own that I’m not your Hazel.”

He felt his heart skip a beat at the phrasing. _His_ Hazel. 

Slowly, he nodded.

“Now, I already told ya once back at the cemetery how you grew into a fine young man, and as much as I’d love to stay and catch up, I got business to attend to.” 

He felt the loss of her hand in his fur, watched with bright eyes as she stepped away and straightened her back further. It was only when she really moved, making her way towards the front door with purpose did he snap out of his reverie, darting from his spot beside the coffee table to instead position himself between her and the door, hackles raised and teeth bared.

He had let her fall asleep. This was his fault. And he’d be damned if he was going to let her out of his sight now.

She looked startled for a moment, cheerful smile slipping out of place for only a second before it returned, softer. “Thomas,” Not-Hazel said, lifting one hand to place on top of his head, entirely without fear at his display of aggression. “Tommy.”

When Thomas stood firm, making no effort to move or let her pass, her steel eyes narrowed.

“Now, now...I just need to grab a few things from the shed.” She began to scratch idly between Thomas’s ears then -an action that did not go unnoticed by him- her eyes hard but smile still present despite the situation. “Be a dear and step aside.”

Still Thomas remained in front of the door, as stiff and unyielding as a stone sentinel standing watch.

“Oh, just come with me then,” the woman snapped suddenly, patience finally wearing thin enough that her smiling facade slipped completely. “I don’t have all night to be playing games with you.”

At this, Thomas finally did move aside, pleased to have made some leeway. He watched as she twisted the doorknob and stepped onto the porch, as she descended the steps.

“Just five minutes and I’ll be back,” she called over her shoulder, the sound of her retreating form enough to spur Thomas back into action. He moved forward again, large paws carrying him easily to her side.

The woman, Not-Hazel, did not take too kindly to this, fixing him with a glare that would have sent him in the opposite direction had he still been a child. “Don’t make me get mean now, Tommy. I’m just headin’ out to the shed for a few minutes and then I’ll be back. Got stuff in there that ain’t none of your business so you best find some way to occupy yourself until I get back.”

She took a few steps in the direction of the old shed but stopped immediately when she noticed that Thomas had begun to follow her. 

She gave an irritated huff as she turned again to face him. “Listen. You’re fast, ain’t ya? Fast enough to catch a jackrabbit? Fast enough to catch a deer?” At his slow nod, she continued. “Now Hazel? She ain’t fast. Which means I ain’t fast. Do you see where I’m goin’ with this?”

Thomas, predictably, did not reply, choosing only to stare up at the woman’s face with his bright golden eyes.

“What I’m sayin’ is that if I’m not back in five minutes, feel free to come after me. A five minute head start ain’t nothin’ to a wolf anyhow.”

Thomas knew this to be true.

 

* * *

 

When she returned from the shed -she had been good on her word, taking no more than five minutes at the most- it was with both hands occupied. The oil lantern she held aloft was old, perhaps older than the ones that had been passed down in Thomas’s own family through the years. In her other hand she wielded a shovel that had probably seen better days, its handle cracked with age and its blade caked in dirt.

Thomas had shifted and finished dressing himself mere moments before she had turned the corner and stepped onto the porch. He knelt now, fiddling with the laces on his heavy boots.

“A shame,” Not-Hazel said, setting the old lantern on the railing of the porch and leaning against the shovel, the picture of casualness. As he shifted his curious gaze to her, she continued, an unfamiliar grin creeping across her face. “While I do love the company, I guess I was sort of hopin’ you’d spend the rest of the night runnin’ amok the way the good lord intended. What with the full moon and all,” she clarified.

At this Thomas huffed. He hadn’t ‘run amok’ since he was a teenager, choosing instead at a young age that hunting to provide meat for his family was a more important use of his time.

She laughed, waving a hand at him, dismissive. “Now now,” the woman grinned. “No need to get defensive, Tommy. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.” She turned away from him, lifting the oil lantern from where she had set it on the railing and set her sights instead on the tree line that marked the edge of her property. “Now we’d best be on our way if we intend to be back home by the time she wakes up.”

Thomas reached out to grab her by the arm then, quick enough to have her startling in surprise. She made a noise high in her throat, sharp and shrill, that reminded him of a small animal being captured by a predator. 

She turned to face him cautiously, her body still positioned purposely so half of it was angled away. “Yes?” She asked slowly.

He stared past her, eyes finding the way she held the lantern now in her white-knuckled grip. He felt a small  pang of regret at having scared her. Slowly, he lifted his hand, holding his index finger up by way of explanation.

This, at least, seemed to confuse her further. She narrowed her eyes at the man at the same time she cocked her head, lowering the lantern to her side so it hung aloft. ”Sorry, dear, but I’m afraid I don’t quite catch your drift.”

Thomas lifted his index finger again, insistent as he turned and moved with lumbering steps back into the house. He returned a moment later with a pair of muddied boots in one hand, kneeling down to set them on the steps in front of the woman. He lifted his head then, fixing her with a look that he hoped got his point across.

She seemed sheepish at this, looking from the shoes, to the man’s face and then away. “Now, Tommy…”

From his crouched position on the porch, he reached for the shoes again, easily taking them both in one hand and lowering them back to the wood with an insistent _thump_. 

He could only hope the look on his face conveyed the seriousness of the situation.

To her credit, she did not flinch away. The pair stared at each other for a moment, neither inclined to yield but both intending to have their way, all the while the muddied boots sat benignly between them, half untied with their laces tangled.

“Fine,” she said after a moment. “‘Spose its gettin’ cold enough now to warrant a pair of shoes.”

Thomas gave a huff, pleased as the woman sat down on the steps and began fiddling with the corded laces. 

Her hands were clumsy as she worked with the complicated knots, as if tying shoes was not something she quite knew how to do or was something she had forgotten all together.

He watched her struggle, saw the exact moment she decided to give up and instead tuck the long laces into the tops of the boots. 

She then stood, turning to face him with both arms lifted away from her sides. _‘There’_ the gesture seemed to convey, _‘happy?’_

At this he gave a pleased nod, rising finally from his crouched position and stepping off the porch to stand beside of her. Thomas watched then as she crouched herself, pulling from her cardigan pocket an old box of matches and striking one easily, lighting the old lantern as if it was something she had done a thousand times over.

“Well?” The woman asked, Hazel but not. “Ready to get a move on?”

 

* * *

 

The forest was incredibly dark this time of night, lit only by the swinging lantern clutched in her fist and the moon above, the celestial body angled towards them in the night sky as if even it was curious as to where the pair were traveling.

Thomas watched the shadows as they danced, long and ominous and skewed, encircling them like enemies lingering just beyond their little patch of light. He had regretted shifting from his wolf form almost immediately, becoming even more regretful as he stepped off Hazel’s front porch and into the moonlight itself.

The wolf pawed at him from within, pacing its confines like any other caged animal that longed to run free. He was frustrated at himself, at his instincts, a low growl rumbling in his throat much too soft for her to hear.

The woman hummed as they walked, something slow and something old, reminiscent of the night she had come to his aid. She had laughed at his offers to carry the shovel and lantern, dismissing him easily with a nonchalant wave of her hand.

He tensed as they neared the rusted cemetery gates, unpleasant memories bubbling to the surface and threatening to manifest physically in the form of shaking hands and uneven breathing.

As if sensing his trepidation, the woman paused, moving the shovel under one arm and pressing it tightly against her body. With her now free hand, she reached back for him, closing her smaller hand around his and giving a reassuring squeeze.

His heart leapt into his throat at the small gesture, the unexpected contact enough to have the wolf howling within its confines. 

 _‘No,’_ he thought sternly as he reeled his more wild half in, dropping the woman’s hand so it fell back to her side. This was not Hazel and he was not some child that needed comforting.

She hummed at this but made no comment as the pair made their way through the cemetery, half-watching the ground for signs of any other traps that may have been missed. 

As they exited the old graveyard, he could hear as she began to count quietly to herself, another oddity in itself. 

The woman, Not-Hazel, stopped moving suddenly, so suddenly in fact that Thomas almost walked into her. She turned in a full circle, lifting the lantern high above her head as she seemed to come to some sort of conclusion. She then smiled, lifting the shovel in one hand and burying it easily to the step in the cold dirt. “Perfect,” she said after a moment, the small spoken word only serving to puzzle Thomas further. “Best make yourself comfortable. We’re going to be here for a while,” she said to him.

The shadows on her face were eerie in the light of the oil lantern and Thomas -who was not usually bothered by such things- could feel his blood run a tad colder.

The entire night had been more strange than he cared to admit.

Thomas watched as she removed a chunk of dirt from the cold ground and tossed it aside, ceremonial almost, before beginning to dig in earnest, the shovel piercing the ground with some difficulty. He was idle for perhaps less than three minutes before the itching unease beneath his skin got the better of him. He began to shift his weight restlessly from one foot to the other, unsettled, moving then to hold out one large hand in her direction.

The woman seemed confused for a moment before laughing, waving his offer away with a gentle flick of her hand, the same gesture she had used when he had offered to carry her things. “Oh no, dear, I reckon I’ve got this under control.”

Thomas frowned beneath his mask, eyebrows furrowing. Again, he extended his hand.

Not-Hazel shook her head at him then, firm. “Now I know you’re used to being the muscle but it ain’t like that with me, understand?”

Thomas huffed at this but made no move to take the shovel again, instead choosing to pace the small section between the trees that stood on either side of the location where she had begun to dig.

 

* * *

 

It was after perhaps two hours -two _absolutely maddening_ hours of nothing to do but stand around and watch the woman work- that she finally stopped, a look of confusion and then irritation crossing her face. She brought one hand to her chest, scowling, clearly more than a little upset about something.

“She’s waking up,” Not-Hazel said then, practically buzzing with irritation. 

Thomas froze as the woman swept closer suddenly, felt his entire body tense up as she reached out with Hazel’s hands to place on either side of his face. He inhaled sharply as her now familiar scent filled his nose.

“Make sure she keeps diggin’, Thomas,” the woman said sternly, her eyes narrowed furiously. “Her entire future is buried here and I’m all out of time.” She ducked her head then, her entire body going lax for only a moment before stiffening again.

When she lifted her head again, he could clearly make out the confusion on her face, watched as her eyes shifted from puzzled then to recognizing. Thomas felt her hands tremble as she moved to pull them away and lifted one of his own in response, pressing the retreating hand more firmly to the side of his face and burying what remained of his nose against her palm from behind his mask.

“I fell asleep,” she said, not a question. She made no further move to separate her hand from his masked cheek, instead leaning forward and pressing her face awkwardly against what she could reach of his shoulder. Her legs felt weak, like she had not used them for some time or perhaps like she had used them too much. “I’m sorry, I should have told you something weird was going on.”

Thomas shook his head firmly at the small apology, wishing there was something that he could do to convince her that despite the weirdness of the situation, everything truly was fine.

She stepped away from the large man slowly, removing herself from his space with some reluctance. She turned curiously, eyes first finding the dark canopy of leaves above her head and then the mound of dirt beside her, disturbed. She looked down at her hands slowly, at the ugly blisters that had formed, and recalled that they had not been there only hours ago. “I...I don’t understand,” she murmured softly. “Was I digging?”

At his nod, she crouched, placing one hand in the packed dirt to steady herself. With her other hand she shifted the lantern slightly to get a better look at the large hole she had dug, some two feet deep and at least three feet wide. Hazel cocked her head at the small pit, pivoting easily in her crouched position and turning to the large man again, her voice echoing the confusion evident on her face. “Do you know what I was digging for?”

Slowly, he shook his head.

Hazel rose from her position then, brushing her dirtied hands carelessly against the hem of her dress as she reached again for the shovel. Her fingers flexed against the wood, fresh blisters stinging against the handle.

Thomas reached over slowly so as not to startle her, lifting the shovel easily from her aching hands and nudging her gently aside. When she looked up at him curiously but said nothing, he went to work, burying the shovel in the ground immediately.

“I can get it,” she said, so softly it was barely audible over his now earnest excavation of the pit she had already spent a few hours on herself. It had drove him wild to sit idle for so long, to be patient as the woman worked at a snail's pace to remove the dirt that now piled up around them.

The large man buried the shovel in the ground once more in response, releasing its cracked handle and reaching around it with both arms to gently grab her hands as they hung at her sides. He took in her surprised and slightly embarrassed expression as he flipped them palm upwards to reveal the painful looking blisters.

She laughed, sheepish as she pulled her hands away gently. “It’s nothing, big guy, really.”

He huffed at this quietly before returning to his digging, all the while Hazel flitting nervously around him as he worked, refusing to sit down even once. The moon continued to shift overhead, drifting further away with every dip of his shovel into the dirt. The wolf became quieter as time passed, displeased but ultimately powerless, howling mournfully from within him. 

Thomas would likely not get the chance to shift for another month.

When his shovel hit something hard and bounced away, she hovered closer, the pair casting glances at each other. She leaned over the side of the small pit, reaching out for his arm to steady herself against the still crumbling walls. Hazel lifted the lantern from its stationary position then, bringing it closer to the hole in hopes of seeing what new thing had been discovered.

She tilted her head at the item as the light found its scratched surface, eyes narrowed and questioning at the oddity.

Was that…?

“...a box of some kind?” She sounded puzzled, her hand flexing curiously against Thomas’s arm where she had not yet let him go. “I mean, obviously I’m thrilled it’s not a body but…”

Thomas nodded at this, lowering himself to the dirt slowly and reaching into the hole they had dug, running calloused fingers across the smooth surface of the old chest. He found one handle at the side and tugged gently, the box coming loose from the ground and rising a few inches. He shimmied the chest back and forth, hoping to free the item without having to dig further, and as he lifted the large box out of the ground, there was the faint tinkling of glass from inside. Thomas stilled instantly at this, worried now that in his carelessness he may have broken something.

“You’re fine, it’s fine,” Hazel murmured, her eyes never straying from the old chest as it was excavated. As he finally pulled it fully from the ground, she found herself stooping low, running still blistered hands across the chest’s muddied surface. She drew her hand into her cardigan sleeve, wrapping the garment loosely around her clenched fist and brushing away some of the dirt that obscured the top.

 _Alea iacta est,_ she was just able to make out by the lantern’s soft glow, the short phrase carved into the lid of the chest alongside a much longer string of words she did not recognize.

“Huh,” she said after a moment, allowing her hands to drop back to her side. Hazel rose from her position near the ground, popping her back in the process, the sound echoing loudly in the otherwise silent woods. She smiled sheepishly at Thomas, bending at the waist to grab both handles on either side of the chest. “I guess let’s get this thing home.” She moved to lift the box then but found it to be heavier than she expected, barely getting the large item a scant six inches off the ground before moving to set it down again. She released a long stream of breath, bracing herself again before attempting to lift the box a second time.

Thomas was at her side in an instant, gently shepherding her aside with one large hand on her hip. He could feel as she tensed under his palm, wondered perhaps if the contact was unwanted, if he had gone too far. This theory was put to rest quickly however as the woman lifted her own hand from the chest’s handle, pressing her fingers gently between his own as they rested, splayed against her hip. 

The wolf gave a pleased rumble at this, a sound that reverberated around the pair as they stood close to one another with fingers intertwined.

She laughed at the noise he had produced, perhaps at the suddenness of it or perhaps at the sound itself, the eruption of her joy carrying even further than that of his pleased growl. His heart stuttered in his chest at the melody of her laughter, and he found himself bringing his free hand upward to clench in the fabric of his shirt over his pounding heartbeat, finding at that moment that he wanted nothing more than to hear the sound again and again. She removed her fingers from his own with great hesitation, stepping aside to give the tall man access to the chest, and Thomas had to stomp down the embarrassing urge to pull her back.

He lifted the box with ease -an act that had her making a clucking sound with her tongue, pleased but not the least bit surprised at the display of strength- one hand on each handle with the box itself pressed to his own chest as he moved forward.

She watched him for a moment, at his back and shoulder muscles as they flexed under his shirt, the fabric clinging with half dried sweat even in the slightly chilly night air. When he turned to her curiously, she sprung into action, her face heating in embarrassment as she plucked the shovel from the ground and lifted the lantern from its position on the packed dirt. In the lantern’s dull glow, she found herself hoping that he wouldn’t be able to make out her reddened cheeks.

Hazel stepped onto the path in front of him then, not at all confident in where they were going but confident enough in Thomas to know that he would get them there safely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT SO it’s definitely been a few months since I last updated whoops. There’s been so much that’s happened and on top of that I’m just now finally getting over this horrible slump where I’m able to write again. This fic still means the world to me and I don’t plan on abandoning it.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!!!


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